Archive | August, 2013

Going, going, gone

2 Aug


This poem is a summer Friday

melting faster than you can eat it






and getting all over your fingers



you have to lick them free.


This poem twinkles

like elusive fireflies

chased through meadows

mason jar in hand

maybe you catch it

maybe not.


This poem makes you

run                 across                 the             street

to save your bare toes

from hot asphalt.

You still don’t

put your shoes on.


The poem is nightfall

gentling the summer heat

until it barely brushes your cheek,

whispers in your ear

‘fall is coming.’


Stained Glass

1 Aug

By Ludwig Schneider (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0 ( or GFDL (], via Wikimedia Commons

By Ludwig Schneider (Own work). Used with Creative Commons permissions.

For Bren

In Chartres, as the Germans marched in,

The French dismantled and hid the great cathedral windows.

Refusing to surrender beauty to the battle.

Not French nor Catholic

I lay claim to the story nonetheless, and whisper it to your sleepless night

as the footsteps of another enemy echo in your ears.

One summer, in the glow of Chartres’ stained glass,

I lit a candle, said an unclaimed prayer

that tonight, I know was for you.

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