I don’t think about 
My past I leave
It alone like the
Sleeping devil it is
At least at rest
It’s no longer conjuring
But during my sleep
Is when my innocence
Is stolen like selfish
Uncles to nephews and
Nieces pawed at undressed
And used for their
Own wicked incestuous pleasure
In sleep is when
My demons dance leaving
Me to wonder if
Because of my own
Behavior here on earth
If eternity like sleep
Will be damned just
Like my nighttime’s are


Throwing open the curtains 
Coffee cup in hand
Steam rises and fogs
The window panes like
My grandmothers soup to
My grandfathers eyeglasses when
I visited as child
The glow begins in
The east like toaster
Wires after bread has
Been lowered like cannonballs
Onto catapults clouds lumber
Past like drunken sailors
Returning to ships after
Shore leave as people
And their pets wander
About sniffing the ground
And air like wolves
Seeking out the scents
Of day and prey


There is something about

The last bit of

Night the cracker crunch

Of brittle snow beneath

Feet the cold ache

Of arthritic car doors

And the growling of

Icy tired car engines

That reminds me of

Morning and as the

World starts its march

You slide in beside

Me warm and fresh

Like a Turkish towel

And wrap your arms

Around me like a

River otter to offspring

As your hair fresh

From water and lavender

Tickles my nose a

Kiss lands upon my

Lips like an envelope

Slid through the mail

Slot softly floating to

The floor signaling me

That today is here


This morning’s sky

Reminds me of

My uncle’s cigar

Many years ago

In Port Washington

Hanging there against

The backdrop of

His thin beard

The center glowed

Crimson almost winking

Surrounded by gray

Ash it hung

There then gone

Between his laughter

There then gone

Between the clouds

Soon to be

All but ash

As he stubbed

It out like

The sunrise does

To the dawn


It’s really only ever

The little simple things

Like the gurgle hiss

And spit of a

Kettle set to boil

As the first glow

Of day washes over

Last nights late snow

And chickadees bounce and

Bob skitter and slide

On the frozen birdbath

Like children wearing skates

As I spoon splash

And stir dark roast

Into a now warmed

Coffee press watching as

Grounds drop and emerge

Like we did that

One July day so

Very very long ago

In ponds out back

This is my morning

Of memories every day