Posted in Love


The next morning
after a month’s rain in 24 hours
the sun appeared,
bright, cheerful, disingenuous –
had nothing to do with yesterday
this is radiation
go down the corridor and talk to precipitation.

I saw the dog first
wondered if it was stray
then she moved
straightened up
from wiping the headstone
banishing debris
replacing flowers.
Mid to late 80’s at a guess

‘‘Dearly beloved.’

chronicled in concrete.
Till death do us part.
It did –
30 years
she’s still the wife
still cares her husband is well turned out.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.