the red-faced stare
of a rundown house
like tall tales
no one remembers
where the bricks came from

through hills and valleys

the water flows uninterrupted

until it turns into river--

we drink in the views 

along with traces of metal

For Ken

so this Christmas

overcast and rainy

I stay close to the fire

holding onto your words

a little longer

the book discussion opens
with an arranged circle
of mismatched chairs
we get to know each other
by putting on our name tags

maybe it's because
the pictures have been taken
off the walls
I'm so shaken by dreams
that I can't remember

election day jitters
I watch a cloud
of starlings choose
the sycamore
over the maple

I leave the bed
and coffee unmade.
It's 2 am and I'm off
to the hospital driving
with my sun visor down.

feeling taller after 
a good morning stretch
I hunch over my checkbook
shrinking a little more
after each bill

they met here years ago
installing park equipment
once again
they climb the steep hill 
and rest on bench 19

hundreds of stories
in those gnarled hands
he works through his pain
by peeling the labels
off pill bottles