Roots stick out from red clay.
I forget about my dream.
After rain, clouds tiptoe away.

Number 87 slides
off the track, back wheels
aflame. Happy 4th.

Hercules lying around —
stars spread out on night's
velvet pool of spilt ink.

Taking a tick off Alex's neck,
dragon smoke floats across
tree tops before rain.

The rain insists on its own
sentences. Its tattered hum
drums the bird-filled trees.

Fairy wand beside the path.
I wish for forever.
Crows gathering at dusk.


Swan never hurries.
I too have no place to be.
Chokeberries falling.

After last night’s rain
a slew of mushrooms sets up
big tops on the lot.

The wind must like me.
Only my hat blows away
chasing umbrella.

Moon grows a white beard,
mist, wispy around its chin.
We must be mirrors.

Under the empress tree,
black butterfly between leaves
come to hear me play.


Parasol mushrooms,
caps atilt, make a grand show
waltzing with the moon.

Ants carry a dead moth
away in tiny pieces.
No time to quibble.

Lattice wings outspread,
a dragonfly has transpired.
Infinity sighs.

Across the river,
tallest steeple in Greenpoint.
Your dress teases a breeze.

Goose poop on sidewalk,
green goop. Watch your step, silly.
Don’t make up small fibs.

Woken by a bad dream,
I am not an imposter.
The Express whistles.