We Saw This
down the damp-black streets
castled and cherried
walking away hard
hard as snow crust
signals went wrong
or died or turned
we crossed the road
beneath another day
another morning.
I stiffened with the wind.
I went home to summer,
glad of it.
Too rich, too bizare
murky morning
I turned to see how he ran;
absent-minded
flourished
listening.
Tunnels wail, examined.
Branches, bitten, forgive.
The Shadow Knows by Dina Varsalone
black and white print from self-portrait series Film Stills 2003
The Shine
Doubtless, disappointed
the eloquent rooms.
The window made a face.
The pane cried.
Tired, numbly called
counting only want
with a busted wing.
Slipped across stone again
I speak waiting
hide, work
maintain distortion.
Remember to
up my revolution game;
compose howl,
Imagine.
I can see
a moaning ocean
the moon’s labor
mocking your towns.
Vanished rooms
laugh
know summer morning.
Immediacy spins
cut, gone.
Grow away
some other walls.
Some indolent place,
the shine.
These Common Senses 