Lunch Break Poem

Kids from the suburbs | on a field trip | to the Park Blocks | parade farmers’ market | bunches of dahlias | strawflowers, | and the lance-shaped ones | that symbolize grief. 

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How Brief, Yet How Full

How brief, yet how full that first encounter | between you in your prime and me in my | secondhand life. | Hello, treasure hunter, would you like to dig through this box of mine?

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Someday This Will All Be Gone

Time tends to create an opaque membrane | with more limited optical clarity | behind the lenses of eyes | that automatically adjust for distant targets

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What Remains Vivid Now

the memory of the pansy, bold faced, persisting
through whiplash weather.
March 14: snow.
March 15: storm of pollen

over the mountains,
across the flats,
down into the valleys —

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