condolences trap:
how could i possibly give
when i don’t get it?
My Poor Boy
condolences trap:
how could i possibly give
when i don’t get it?
Trapped (Not Trapped)
sometimes i think: Hell.
twenty days of solid heat.
(Denver in summer)
and then i recall
our glorious altitude
and misty mornings
i will swim for views
only captured here at home
(Denver forever)
Friday Night Lights (x2)
what’s more beautiful—
this red, water-begging dawn
or my daughter’s grin?
each touched by showers
so desperate to soothe our souls
from this hellfire
Put It in Anything!
zucchini again
hidden in pesto pasta,
garden tomatoes
Your Garden Daily
zucchini tonight:
soon to be my life story–
sweet stuffing, hard shell
Burned
ten minutes of rain
won’t wash away the fires
in mountains, in souls
Symbols of this Day
a cake that collapsed,
a zucchini casserole
without zucchini
Sky Rat
if only these were clouds
not fucking with my haiku syllable count
but actually pouring down rain instead of smoke
if only we didn’t have cactus along the Front Range
to remind us of
how harshly we’ve parched this Earth
how we’ve stolen the sky with fires
how these are not clouds trying to hide
the ever-present sun
Fire and Ice
water still as ice
while wildfires choke sky
with climate change breath
In the Thick of It
this is all for now
a zucchini-sized failure
i forgot to pick
Step Write Up 