15 October 2008
Vol. 8, No. 3
You croon like Johnny, and you look like June.
To hear your thrilling trill, to take my stress
for one more song, shy son, I'll trade the moon,
your husky voice is best, I do confess.
24 August 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2
For ten days now, two luna moths remain
silk-winged and lavish as a double broach
pinned beneath the porch light of my cabin.
Two of them, patinaed that sea-glass green
of copper weather vanes nosing the wind,
the sun-lit green of rockweed, the lichen's
green scabbing-over of the bouldered shore…
8 July 2008