high on a rock
on the top of a tree
egg nesting

Autumn morning
the dog with three legs
warms his wheelchair seat

winter night
leaving a voicemail
from an old friend

the faces change
across the border
but not the laughs

fan
in the dead of the night
the helicopters

pill bottles
are these really
what I need?

my sweatpants
were apparently
too alluring

a cold wind blows
across the field
of corpses

slowly falling
for your voice
the soundtrack to my dreams

Yes, she's wearing flannel,
but it's autumn.
Check her nails.

Are you butch, femme, or granola?
Which one's obsesed
with Game of Thrones?

the romantic kiss
misses the target
punctured jugular

running up
the downward escalator
when no one is around

your warmth against my body
slowly ebbing away
as you grow cold

night drive
at a red light
alone

jogging to the dugout
she trades a helmet
for her glove

base slick from the rain
slipping
as I round third

the kids go inside
for cake and ice cream
I jump in the bouncy castle

sweating again
why do dress clothes
make me nervous?

flashback from Iraq
I shake violently
my 3 year old runs away

emotional night
we both
have a glass of water

golden chain—
twisting around
binding my hands

bright sunflowers
watching over
delicate weeds

a grain of sand—
but then a beach—
no longer solitary

car ride
we both sigh
at the same time

cold wind
howling
for no one

shared class
accidentally wearing
the same shirt

graveyard at night
surprisingly full
of life

you thought
I loved you . . .
so did I

raining
getting wet
holding the door for her

begging the dog
to come inside
. . . blank stare

Sunday drive
not the same without
my little brother

our song
blasts through the windows
I rip down the backroad

every time a bell rings
I am reminded
of your wings

your spot
on the couch
sags a little

I put dad's boots
back into the special place
in my closet

husband
daughter
empty spot on the coatrack

oceans of conversation
a seemingly raindrop-sized question,
who am I?

in the moon
the reflection
of a million stars

to swat a fly
what would
Buddha do?

needle goes in and out
the thread won't pull tight
tangled in my eyelashes

answering a message
she watches
her battery run out

the boys weekend
rolling around
his wheelchair a chariot

afraid of change
Switchfoot
dares me to move

the spaghetti
tastes a little different
made of brains

little cousins playing
on playground equipment
I join in

reliving my emo phase
alone in my room
teenage dirtbag

all day long, saying
nothing
stars shine overhead

exploring the woods
remembering
the best spots

so still the surface . . .
maple leaf falls
and rests

links between stars
the space between neurons
not so emptiness

a constant shadow—
my cat is companion
to my heels

wingman—
one with wings
or a bro?

flow of breath, flow of life
I let go
and so it begins

watching tv
she braids her hair
for the twentieth time

leaves fall
hitting the boy
in the face

the crack of a bat
the crack
of a skull

in the bar
he tilts his cowboy hat
at the pretty girl

8 pm lecture hall
my professor mentions
feminism

rusted out truck
still gets me
where I need to go

praying
not knowing
if I'll get an answer

leaves rustle
and I wonder
what sees me

finding a clearing
the stars
so beautiful here

rain clouds
her white jersey
now brown

fresh cut grass
powdery chalk
game day

a diving stop
behind the back flip
can't hit your glove

the ducks swim together
like we
once did

I roll my eyes
grandpa makes another fart
joke

swimming in the stream
the fish
don't like me

walking the path
a leaf
hits me in the face

my son
on the baseball field
where I used to play

old baseball field
weeds cover
what was dirt in my time

rich man walks
down the sidewalk
steps over a homeless man

looking at the sun
the lonely centerfielder
shields her eyes

the perched squirrel
looks at me
then returns to the acorn

flames lick upward
lighting up the faces
the trapped children

plucking the guitar strings
echoes fade into
the empty hallway

through the vents
the eighth notes flow
one after the other

chained to a tree
my bike,
still stolen

I exist
exclusively in her appointment

the winning run
she misses
the plate

cold wind
the psych patient
feels her lungs

words fail
when I'm with you
always crushing my throat

keep your mouth closed woman—
who are you to tell me
what to say?

100 degrees
I get sent home
for wearing shorts

amusement park—
even the seagulls
enjoy their time

women got the right to vote
a year
after Teddy's death