down on river becoming
a wharf dog, guarding
boats, watching coal barges
learning to read the water
and at home, still watching
for the honeysuckle to bloom
Tag Archives: poet
why dogs sleep with eyes open
the river ripples less than it breathes
this calm night when, like a tired woman sleeps, there are no kisses only sighs,
the hint of a dream
Leaving Goattown
the bus station is more of a ghost town
than it used to be early maybe but
it always comes to mind, that time
once in Amarillo saw a man gunned down
wrong place wrong time in the wild wild west
Well Sheriff I reckon that boy had it comin’
and here in Cincinnati, I listen to footsteps long
bereft of feet still waiting for a bus lost in Virginia