Do the inhabitants of the past ever tire

of our clueless questions and our rapacious gaze?

cloudy Sabbath

all eyes are on the bright
heirloom tomatoes

Purely cosmetic.

A found videopoem.

Audubon walk

admiring a pheasant’s
dismembered foot

that faint overlay

on every cellphone photo—
my own face

January moon

we startle at each other’s faces

fresh paint

a butterfly lands on the ladder to have a taste

a line of balloons

beside the campus elms bobbing drunkenly

a still child

only her eyes keep dancing

an ancient beach

on the sandstone ridge we still stoop for baubles