electric mushrooms
that disappear with gold coins?
take that, Mario!

pack reality
to fit snugly on shoulders
bid mountains adieu

burger cooked with guilt
to meet misbehaving girls
and her stressed-out face

later, block party
personal chefs, burglar cams?
i miss the aspens

with ice cream melting
i say, we should have done this
before we had kids

it’s because of me
(took my boy from Tennessee)
silent acceptance

they fight over pics
wish they could climb those boulders
too many, too rough

pack reality
in a weekend backpack trip
you’ll disturb demons

sleep in to stream song
squirrels tattle while birds sing
the joy of quiet

painted by fresh rain
a burned out forest brightens
gold, silver steal brown

protected from wind
we share a moment alone
we love to pique peaks

my wet fire fades
until you stack teepeed wood
you’re always my flame

the moon a spotlight
full circle at sixteen years
holds us together

we planned sixteen years
she just met them yesterday
freedom and constraint

tree-covered crossing
keeps us from imagined lake
a stream bed will do

mosquitoes move in
our tent anniversary
they can’t steal our love

forest to ourselves
distant creek, birds’ lullaby
romance in the night

one in shoe, one wheeled
chores churning into child’s play
rediscover home

belt, Bourbon trail hat
soft southern love reminders
of homes, old and new

tall trees, city streets
a walking score wins the night
you grin, wind winds down

word play your birthday
girls proudly carry cheesecake
oh, to be young, old

you sleep beside me
breath as soft as that first night
loved you then, and now

with tiny trapped tears
her joy melts into sorrow
how she loves Daddy

four girls cross four states
speeding through the horizon
not bad for Monday

the misty morning makes a muddy hike
as we make our way
to our one-night home

sticky leaves leave remnants
on every bit of clothing–
eight people, two hours,
the campsite rejoices in fresh-turned soil

we creep like caterpillars down the ravine
and slide our kayaks into Kentucky mud,
its bubbly burps rising to the top
of a lake we’ll make our own

our little fishies barely breathe,
growing gills by late cloudless afternoon
as our oars move in and out
of bird calls and a shadowy lagoon

a thrown-together meal
on a bank side blanket
fills our mouths with peanut butter,
cracker crumbs and tuna breath,
even the gurgling fishling
as she flicks her tiny tongue

the red sun drives us home,
where we will head west,
forever west, and our
Kentucky lake will make a memory
softer than a gliding kayak’s
song across rippling waters

with a log too large
and a grudge too grand
we walk the fern-filled forest

the fire burns as the dog declines
silence sweeps in for twilight
a singular remark on my snipped tongue
stings the beauty of the afternoon wood walk

soon the whimpering dog descends
into a fetal acceptance of nightfall
as distant dogs bark and Kentucky sun dips
into a day that started beneath a set
of 300-year-old pin oaks

fireflies make their way across the naked path
that i walk without you this week
no protection from the bug-bogged creek beds
from the darkened daggers of words
that break down with wood-eating fungus