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The Man With His Back To The Room

The Woman In The Window

wears white & weeps blue tears down her thin cheeks & in her silver hair she’s a nest of chickadees &

around her neck from a silver chain a miniature black cage
where a white cricket lives &

in her heart there’s a hole that has never been filled & in her mouth words she will not speak but

chews them day by day until they are the color of white paste &
will be her meal for that night.

The woman in the window cannot find her way in the dark & depends on the moon & the shadows it casts

to make a path for her to come & go & in the day she is motionless in her chair of asphodel & weeds &

looks to the horizon like a pilgrim anticipating a ship or a queen her lost love & when I see her, as I often do,

I wave & she smiles that rare smile & I see her teeth are true & her eyes turn bright as the darkest stars.

Barcelona Diary
It's Mother's Day
By Dawn's Early Light at 120 Miles Per Hour
The Man With His Back To The Room
Intimacies, Prose. Poems and Stories
Homage to a Widow
It's Only TV
Improvisations - Chapbook
After Goya
Improvisations - From Contemporary Music
Mustering What's Left