Loving the Maybes

At my home in Connecticut I am able to get out into the world and see possibility despite quarantines and shutdowns. We live at the top of a hill, and one of my routine walks is up and down (about 1/2 mile both ways). A bigger loop brings me around the neighborhood, about 2 miles. […]

Close Reading the Wood-pile

About this time every year, when the leaves begin to fall and the soil is perpetually wet and cushiony, I begin to long, strangely enough, for comfortable measurements. The three deer who’ve visited our lawn came back this second morning, so that’s a start. The tiny, unrecognizable bird (sparrow? finch?) fluttered in and out of […]


  In my latest book, The Comet’s Tail: A Memoir of No Memory, I ponder the nature of memory–what we remember, what we forget, how our identities are built by and shaped by memories.  While I can’t recreate any single memory into a perfect film of the past, I can stare at the open sky of […]

The Perils of Bedtime Reading

With A Brief History of Time occupying the top spot of my pile of bedside books, I’ve had space and time on my mind lately. So, four poems (small input, I know) toward a unified theory of the universe. The Sky’s Version of Truth So what about the laziness of light, taking its sweet old time […]

Not entirely idle

Happy Fall! Here’s a poem from Nomad’s End, published by Finishing Line Press. Purchase a personalized signed copy of the chapbook by clicking here . I’ll pick up the shipping! Occupation of Autumn Afternoon on the last day of September begins with sun shifting across the tiara of sky. The equinox has passed and autumn carefully […]

Late Comers

A poem from Nomad’s End, published by Finishing Line Press, 2010. Amateurs What logic is in the spray of water on our faces as the speed boat takes us to shore in the late September evening. Our crew moves along volcanic wreckage—a cast-iron skillet melted and covering the land with a thick, black sheath. Retracing […]

From Nomad’s End, Finishing Line Press, 2010 Before Your Train Leaves a handful of minutes need to morph into their shape, crust like atoms becoming a molecule and tell a story with thrift. No time to dawdle. Back-story, established by your eyes, advances the plot, though I am more interested with the syllables of touch […]

Until Nomading Ends

Giving up the shell can be hard, but so worth it. After nomading, we find home. Abandonment Naked, the crab forgets his hermit ways, creeping in the oyster underworld, brushing against minnow fins and ugly red claws, until nomading ends, and a home, spiraled in calcium, appears. A watery cosmos of green awaits the refugee […]