For My Thirty-third Forty-fifth Birthday 

Four times ten has run

around the globe. Along the way

she picked up five more:

a gull winging to fortune,

a wasp buzzing villainy,

a blond crested hawk surveying the increments,

two mourning doves in flight

The companions, with sails blazing,

frequent glassy seas, blue-green mountains.


Poem to Myself the Day I Edit the Past

Remember to watch fire
as it burns
between the fibers of a log
that layer above crisp orange embers,
its flames breathing through
the saw’s cuts that slant perpendicular
to the sequence
of the tree’s narrow years.

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