​A Girl I Kissed


forty-five years ago says
your eyes were the best I ever saw.

She means the boy
long before gray hair, whose belly 
didn’t lead his steps.

My eyes are centers of crags now
and unlike my teen-aged self
they’re unsure of what they see.

The world has become a smoking heap.
I take her compliment
with a grain of lithium.





​Fable of the Back Yard


I followed a dandelion seed for days,
floated after it a few feet off the ground 
startling velvet birds, invisible cats 
Small planes with dragon wings
dipped low to watch a boy  
lift like a balloon.
The world smelled of lawns 
freshly cut by penguins 
with pocket-watch eyes.
I followed with imaginary friends— 
train conductor with his striped
cap waving in the steam,
girl humming on a swing
her voice lost in the sky— 
the small white galaxy.
The seed caught a burst of air.
We were pin drops of honey 
melting on a pixie’s tongue.
A boy disappears
in every back yard in the world 
in a blaze of sunwork
leaving behind a man.