Posted in Rituals


Friendship seemed improbable at first meeting
not so much reluctant, as uninterested
an investment not likely to pay dividend –
twice removed cousins at a family reunion
why bother?

Catalyzed by circumstance
It becomes Brokeback Mountain – without the messy part.
Frequent trips
to movies
to events
to mountains and river valleys.
Tents and huts
sunsets and crickets
star confetti skies
moon paths and frost
billy tea and dehydrated food.

City boys and wilderness,
improvised closeness.
The curve of time
where memory has been and hope dreams to go.
Matters sotto voce at home
spoken out loud –
“ My father ….it’s too late now ”
even here ambiguity is intentional
obfuscation planned.

I’m allowed to know,
but not why.
I know not to ask. He knows I know not to.



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.