Sunday dinner
from across the table
pass the goddamned butter

asleep and surrounded
a spider
lives under covers

staring at the screen
the young man
has finished the haiku

dishes pile
high in the sink
it can wait till later . . .

a dusty portrait
alone
sitting in the attic

early morning sunrise
interrupted by rain
    I turn to you.

Saturday night
everyone is out
     you never called

he has one trophy:
the cross necklace
from his grandpa

water dripping
counting the hours
till the light of dawn

an open BOok
My thoughts      drift
     out the open window...

I cannot see
the mother bear
and her home

balloons and flowers
How do you
celebrate the birthdays of the dead?

sweating sunshine
we leapt into Buckingham Fountain
…you stayed dry

orange sunset
bleeding
across your grave

standing in silence
the rain
it overtakes me

holding hands
     . . . stargazing
a leaf falls blocking Leo

a call from home
his cancer
now worse

the playground . . .
     we used to swing
          together

glimmering
star filled night
neon shapes stuck to my ceiling

the dinosaur’s heart will
never
beat again.