Trying to stifle
my cough on the train brought tears
to my eyes today.

Swaddled in sheets and
blankets, my nocturnal home,
I am loath to leave.

Bumbershoot

Wanting to dance with
my umbrella, the wind gave
me a gentle push.

My ambivalence
trumps your suffering because
I care less than you.

Damp mischief afoot
outside persuades me to eat
alone at my desk.

Chatting about books
with you on the train, I wrote
poems with your smile.

The blood in my veins
reached superfluidity
when you said goodbye.

Grey February
skies cast sad silver shadows
and you are not here.

For Kim

With three hands, she thought,
my burdens would finally
be manageable.

January blue
unfurls across the city.
Do you see my breath?

Foggy morning

The fog-wrapped Bay Bridge
stretches silently eastward,
glancing, once, my way.

Why do the homeless
in my neighborhood sleep while
wearing just one shoe?

January 14, 2008

With thirty-eight years
under my hat, should I know
something about life?