Wednesday

muddy hands
leave muddy handprints
-- it's rained for days

the farmer sits
on an upturned bucket
recounting dreams

Saturday

blues
in a blue room
without shoes

Sunday

startled
by a crow's footsteps
overhead

my footsteps --
percussion
or bass-line?

Friday

walking home
this evening --
a jack of spades

Wednesday

a seedling --
it's either a squash
or it's not

Sunday

waiting in a crowd
distracted by
red and blue rogue balloons

at a traffic light
in a suit
wearing his weathered pick-up

Friday

this afternoon
the slaying
became a siege

Wednesday

yesterday
I heard the sun set
over Sebago Lake

a gnarled root
like Shiva
stands in the row

Monday

Dear Maxfield,
tonight I saw
your sky.

walking home
the woods were silent
for a moment

excuse me, sir
I like how erect you sit
especially in the morning