Poems


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From Nest Full of Cries

Left on the table,
crumbs of gingerbread
settle between boards,
and circles of hot chocolate
harden, where the overflowing cup
once raised its steam--
skeins of vapor shifting
like a fortune-teller's vision.

The roar of the oven has died away: the floor-tiles
striped with ashes where it leaked,
kicked from inside. The sun is setting
as the cuckoo-clock ticks.
And the wooden bird as usual
waits for its moment.

(from Nest Full of Cries, Adastra Press, 2000; first published in Carolina Quarterly.)