This Morning

I'm on time.
The road moves
under the car
against the grain
or all the same
still at war
and going back
for more
no time to
wave. Continuous
disruption
thoughts that lapse
into the lack
of continuity
dark morning brings.

Oh Yes

Yesterday I died.
It was my third and final time.

At least at last
there is no more
falling leaves
hostility.

I should have been a pair of retractable claws
clicking across the hardwood floors
of quiet living rooms.

Death fit around me
like a brand new sock.

Over-the-calf,
tube,
the way life entered:

I in
you, I in
you, I in you.

No idea what to do
with myself now.

All of the people I loved
are here except
of course the ones down
there.

Only there is no up,
no down. No here here.

I saw you standing on our maple tree
on the lowest branch
no human can reach
and you were smiling
not remembering that I was gone.

“Good times, good times.”

A fatal belief in things
coming together.

Cartoons shout Hooray
therefore I was
OK with my children watching
them in moderation.

The white breath of waiting
for the bus
against the multi-colored leaves
in late October . . .

where I would have been
today.

As a century is
something only thought of.

Yesterday I died.
My daughter climbed our tree
three years from now.

This Morning

A blue jay splits
the arborvitae screen;
a tight blue-green spiral
launched from the hand of
my three-year-old son.

This Morning

Cold fog over Candlewood Lake;
upside down on the rocks
a white row boat points the way out.

Collision

When I die
Will you marry me?