Monday, November 16, 2009


The silences are you, too. Still,
they wear me like
wind wears autumn.
Restless. Churning.
The way sand wears skin
raw. As gravel in my knees
is silent
after the fall. How blood
seeps in syncopated beats
behind closed eyes. The way
one breath exacts the next
in a long hall of sighs.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Rockaway Beach

Wind coughs and sputters, chokes
rain bursts along pine cone perimeters,
slipping to bed of earth
between heavy blankets of fog.
White horizon, gray sky.

Gulls open themselves to rising
columns of air, unfold
and release themselves
on waves unseen. Bodies held aloft
heads cocked, wings banked,
hold a steady eye. Others

lock wings like shutters, hunker down
at the edge of the frenzy, peck
where froth rolls and breaks. They search
the tossed and torn
for sustenance, shriek and squawk
how difficult it is to survive.