favorite part of speech

i walk beside the river in the snow.

my cat curls beside me on the couch.


we are in this world to rub up

against other things and beings.


we define ourselves

in relation to others.


try to describe who

or where you are


without prepositions:

the words of relation-


ships. even an

island is in the sea,


far from land and

longing for habitation.


jump into the water

and see where it takes


you. cast off your

past, the weight of


mistakes, the heavy

anchor of indecision.


it is time to sail, to

take flight, to feel the


wind in your wings:

in, on, through, between.





worse for the wear

this is the poem i don’t want to write.

this is the poem that is not beautiful.


or maybe it is,

because it is true.


the truth is,

i wish she were worse for you.


the truth is,

i wish she would just disappear.


i wish she were not so much like me.

it would be easier to hate her.


for both

of us.


the truth is,

she is good for you.


the truth is,

she is better for you


than i

would be.


i try to woo you with

my words, mystery,





but the truth is,

i’ve never had a healthy



it feeds the


poetry, but not

the living.


the truth is,

if she disappeared


tomorrow, i would not

know what to do.


i would probably

cry for you.


and then

for me.


i am the one who

should disappear.


i am the one who

is worse for the wear.






forgive me, father

forgive me, father

for i have sinned;


it’s been fifteen days

since my last poem.


these first baby steps

are weird and wonder-


ful; i wonder where

they are taking me.


maybe to you—to the

brightest thing in my life.


let me know where

your heart is;


let me know your

words so i can


steal them away:

the purest relation-


ship, you say, preserved

in this crystalline distance.


can you see them? the pink

clouds rowing through the sky?


humming right along-

side? we’re almost there.

love to you and

the way you hold a

pencil,     the way you bend and tilt


toward what is important, toward

what moves you     and yet holds


you in stilled animation,

wonder,     desire;


the way your face      opens

to the widest smile, the



laugh,          like music


giving in.     love to you and

the granular tender-


ness in your eyes, on your

finger   tips, between the     universe


of your lips,     the tension of your sighs. this

kind of     love     has no name; it is just a


grate   ful   ness to be in the

same world with      you.