Monday, May 12, 2014


On one of those 
mornings—in May
when it's 

sunny and simultaneous-
ly raining—and I'm feeling, 

as I shuffle distracted and
alone through soft puddles 
of blossoms,

all at once—tired,
hopeful, slack,
smart and at least a little hungry;

I just cannot think

of any good words
that are light-
to-the-touch enough

to send 
to a breeze-gentle and faraway girl.

But then
what? is any of that—here 
before me

to this unself-
consciously mudglazed and
gadabout robin

plucking and gobbling
proudly—a wet 
gristly earthworm

before turning,
excreting quick and then darting-

in any old good looking woodsy direction!