Writing

you should be an image in stained-glass windows 

the same ones you trace with your eyes every sunday 

while hymns echo in your ears, words 

you've known so long you forget the meaning. 

it’s 2am and i’m still lying awake 

with thoughts in one hand and feelings in the other. 

how can i go to sleep with a head full of stars 

and my face running away 

up into the sky 

The little boy

his little red raincoat

I remember my little purple raincoat

it used to feel so big.

His grandma

her black raincoat

trowel in hand

I remember my grandma teaching me gardens

midafternoon moon

deer skeleton

rummaging the burned dark remains of an apple tree

fruit thrown 10 feet away

one single alone deer

can't hear my sneeze

i wish i could walk with you

Hell is hugging the guardrail as you traverse the highway

Feet bare to glass and rust and stone upon stone

Limbs driven by the atrophy of snapping tendon 

All the little animals swam up to feel the air that day.

They danced in the water like they never had before.

I know they did.