These shores once stood
On an endless horizon.
Of ships and men, the currents do tell
How they rolled and they plundered
Every wood
And soul they could find.


Sunday afternoons are so long and Monday is not a guarantee.


So much for the movies
So little for the books,
When you said ‘okay’ and I told a lie.


This was one last effort to delay the battle ahead. He could do it easily, but she could not forget. “A year, fifteen months at most,” he said. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll have the hound for company.” He put his dirty ball cap on while she looked for her shoes. “I think I’d like a grandfather’s clock,” he said. “I know,” she said. “You’ve always been obsessed with time.”


Strike a match and watch it fade a-way.
Leave. Go.
My hold-ing hand.


For the life of me I can’t remember why I bother
To hold the phone
When the line is long dead.
And Father Time is a tyrant
With his hand on my shoulder
And like the winds of September,
He goes stealing away.