Shadow my one and only
searching
for dusk on the roads
you’re like Bly’s
lovers who go home
through the dark autumn nights.
Here are the sheets
I pulled off the line,
fragrant
with sun and wind,
here’s a bird,
juggling songs
in the dogwood like a stoned librettist.
How many
heavens do you need?
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4.