quarantine spring

Blue smoke floats down
past evergreen sleep
across the pale rain
hazing the thin light.

The sky
is heavy enough
that even the dry birch
in the wood stove
can't ascend.

In the black woods behind the yard
there's a big chunk of mottled quartz
sitting in the dirt
like an animal skull.
I put it there
to mark my place.

The trees are bare
but the birds sing the morning in
and so the season
is like
a slow sad song.

The blowing needles of late snow
play piano;
downtown, storm drains drone harmonic
a sonata
for the terrified air.

Some afternoons are like rocks in the path-
no words. No thoughts.
Some are like the music
in my head
plaintive and free
wobbling verses
against shifting sky.

Still others fall prey
to inexplicable whim
sudden batches
of oatmeal raisin cookies
white stones brushed clean
and set into esoteric place
channel markers
in secret harbors.

It rains and I sleep late.
Awake to another empty box,
to vanished reason.
to press my face into streaked pane
and watch
muted portents, the tawny birds
of already-forgotten seasons.


the trees

Alexandria, New Hampshire 2018.

Sedgwick, Maine 2019.
Both Kodak Portra/Rolleiflex.


and the clouds are maps

Taylor, Texas, 2010. Kodak T-MAX/Rolleiflex.

Mayfield Heights, Ohio, 2011. Kodak T-MAX/Rolleiflex.




northern whites

The Pilot Range from The Horn, September 2018. Ilford HP5/Nikkormat.

Castle Ravine, Mt. Jefferson. September 2017. Ilford HP5/Pentax K-1000.