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As my expectations ebb and flow,

I create then dismantle another reality.

More than likely not healthy

to spend so much time in the sensual.

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Walking with a memory

Walking with a memory of you

under my umbrella

to the bus.

Eating a breakfast sandwich

in the rain.

I stopped to argue my case

but you were not there.




Late Winter



in a comfortable chair
on the third floor of the Whitney center.


of ice packed snow slip off the
Basilica’s dome — gradually picking
up speed then crash into the roof
of the sanctuary.


in Loring park are weighted
— heavy with last night’s snow.
Last night my


opened the window
— much too early in February—
before we slept.


kept me warm under the intoxicating smell of sex.