Silence

They approach one by one
to light a candle in memory
and even those passing by can’t
bring themselves to speak
and as the light grows only
an occasional sob is heard,
as the crowd steadily builds but

The wind of the night
Swallows their sound

The Path

The path

The Path winds, eternally
grateful for a place to be,
trees to twist around, and
slowly decaying leaves mixed
with browning pine needles that soften
the foot steps of deer

It romps through pine stands and
Climbs a hill dancing through maples,
Swishing with the tall grass in a small field before
Hopping over a bog, stopping to croak with a bull frog

Then all at once, carefully planted
pachysandra edges its sides like emergency lanes
and a sign made of a stick and plain white paper
reads “Trail Ends Here” but nobody told

the path.

Bengal India, Age 11

You squat barefoot
waiting for your little
brother to load slabs of clay
on top of the
rag on his head,
stumbling under the weight
as he brings them over.
You roll the clay in the dust,
fit it in your brick mold,
pound it and, skillfully
cutting the excess off,
knock the brick
out to sun bake before
it’s fired in the kiln,
whose smokestack rises.
And you no longer
notice the foul smell
of the smoke you breathe
fifteen hours of every day.
You knock another brick
among the countless others,
that spread out from you
like a patio but with no
comforts of the home you left
two years ago when your parents
took a five dollar loan
they couldn’t repay.

Tree Spiking

Light filters through the green canopy
illuminating a carpet of browning leaves
which the grey and gold tinged
fungi will transform
into next season’s canopy
that will house chickadees,
goldfinches,
honeybees,
stick bugs,
and countless beetles.
Ferns growing in the shade
protect young rabbits, and field mice,
food for lynxes and fox that burro
under fallen rotting trunks.


Here green clad eco-soldiers,
environmentalist, primitivist, activist,
and as alive as the forest,
drive ten inch nails
into the trees that they
love so much,
to save them
from the chainsaw,
and the mill
where men labors,
unable to work elsewhere.

Earth First! can’t understand the destruction
of the world we share, but

the mill workers can’t fathom the
industrial saw blade lunging towards them
barbed teeth hungry for life.

To Jeff

I

The grime on your hands
sticks to the handle of the
Unishears as you cut
the sheet metal that will
cover the side of the Air-Handler
and connect the Flex to the
air vents, cooling the suburban
two story
four bedroom
two and a half bath
comfortable and stylish
home.

When the job is finished
we ride in your white industrial van,
“Campbell Cooling, LLC” painted on the side
with the HVAC license plate.

Smoke from your cigarette
splashes against the windshield
just like it did yesterday,
and the days before that
this summer driving between jobs
when you’d share stories of your life:


II

You were twenty, a machinist
working in your father’s shop.
High school was a burden,
since you’d take over the shop someday;
besides, you liked working better.

You started drinking heavily
when the machine shop closed down
but no one in your family
wanted to confront you.


You got married, your wife drank too
and you spent most of your money
on booze and USA Golds.

You crashed the car
with the transmission you just installed,
got pulled over drunk three of four more times
when your wife left.

You lived in a group home for
recovering alcoholics and addicts,
and worked full time but they still made you
mop the floor every night
because everyone had a chore.

Your parents came to your graduation
from the local voc-tech school, proud
that you didn’t drink any more
that you had a steady job.


III

Your new girlfriend is a recovering addict
she tells you to reduce your stress,
and yells at you when you forget
the four-year anniversary of
the day she quite drugs.

Your basement apartment
floods when it rains a lot
and mold grows everywhere;
You smoke two packs a day
to keep from drinking,
which makes the place
even mustier, and danker.

You show up to work at seven
and work until six every day,
and usually you work Saturdays too
but you only jokingly complain
that you haven’t had a vacation
in over two years.

You blow up aliens on your new
Play Station that your girlfriend
insisted you buy to help you relax,
but you tell me that having to escort the nuclear bomb
through the military base just
stresses you out more.

You talk about selling your parent’s house,
buying a little place for you all to live.
You joke about your brother,
how you used to tease him for going to college,
but now he makes a ton of money.

You work for fifteen dollars an hour
with no benefits,
trying to repay student loans.

Counterfit Daybreak

The Milky Way
used to shine
but now the
faint cloud
fights to exist

the light from the city
assaults the darkness

The Tree Fort

When I was six,
In the infinite woods
That lay behind my house
Stood a tree fort
My uncle built just for me.

I would set out
For the long journey,
An adventurer searching
For ancient ruins,
My dog close by
To protect me.

I crossed the raging river,
Carefully balancing on a fallen log,
And hike a treacherous trail
Through the overgrown jungle.

I often traveled miles
Before chancing upon
My tree fort ruins,
Where I could spend hours
Hidden deep in the jungle,
Alone as only a child can be
With their imagination.


It has been fifteen years since I have explored those woods,
But it was only this year my mother told me that
She could see my tree fort from the kitchen window.

Sleeping

I never realized how lonely
Sleeping could be until
I shared a bed with you
My arm draped over your side
Holding you close to me
Face to face
We shared soft kisses
Until we drifted to sleep
Only to wake up smiling
Throughout the night
Because you are there
Keeping me warm

Driving

I am driving alone late
at night and my hand dangles
from the armrest. Soon I gently
feel your fingers laced in mine.

I smile and
move my hand
to your leg,
you smile back,
and I take my eyes
off the road,
for just a moment,
to look at you.

I squeeze your leg
right above the knee
and you squeak,
but I hear the giggle in it.
You glare at me
in mock anger;
I grin back.
You throw my hand
off your leg
and cross your arms
over your chest.
I make a sad face,
and apologize;
you smile widely
taking my hand again.

You disappear,
and I’m left alone
again but I can somehow
still feel you
with me.