A ripple thread creasing the tide

Whither goest, poet,
aging in the night?
Your songs circling
the globe the only goal
you’ve ever known.
―Lewis MacAdams

Dragonfly tapping at the windowglass
―my father come to visit?
These are the wings he would have liked to own
when he was human
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FEBRUARY
              Two baby hummingbirds
in the Japanese maple―
                              one died
___________________________________

lost things

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Now I have forgotten
what I thought I knew
outstanding warrants aside
I was always operating at sea-level

I had memorized the tide charts
& the name of each detour
on the road to the land of the dead

It was raining
or it had just stopped
raining

When I woke up I was
still wearing sunglasses
& there was sand
in my sneakers
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For Alison
(A birthday poem that’s either
8 months early or 4 months late)

I remember the
first time you
ever smiled
you smiled
at me