Rockets and Blue Lights


36 pages
8.5" x 5.5" single signature with hand sewn binding
Published 2012

From Rockets and Blue Lights


I can't hold on to quarters,
twenty dollar bills,
the tang of sausage and peppers.

Things pass through me
like the potted geranium did
when the worn wicker seat gave way,

like the babies that tunneled
through the weave and channel
of my pelvis.

They drop, kitten from cat's jaws,
his pants, her stitch,
the first handful of dirt.

So much that's watched remains
unseen like muscle, fern spores
scattering into air,


fresh blood clotting,
or a mare in flight between
hoof beats.

Contoured cup of morning
glory crumples, perfect spiral
of dust disperses

until it seems vision is a trick,
and the hours' varying shades on the lip
of  a vase always around the bend.