as if he were george clooney
I wait at the end
of the line
to get a picture
of spongebob squarepants

not asking
for miracles
I cut myself with the knife
that was too dull
to cut potatoes

curving like the arc
of a crescent moon
lifelines that find
shelter in the palms
of our hands

a bowl of chili
on a warm day
I no longer
feel the need
to explain my choices

picking up
blades of grass
a young boy
smells each one as though
it held a flower

not exactly the place
where jules verne
would have ended his story
the hot air balloon
that lands in a cornfield

responsible for the sudden
surge in population
purple martins put
   "catawissa"
back on the map

a chimney sweep
turned violinist
the blue notes
of yesterday's smoke
carry the next song

staring across the lake
as if she were expecting
a ship to arrive
the mother goose waits
for her mate's return

the spin wheel
pattern of my sleep
gently rocked
by the cradles
of magnolias