Early Morning Love Poem

early dawn
fades into grey

i carried your name
into the pale
winter morning

the sound
of the waking birds
touches skin
to skin

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For Janis

the night falls
in silence

fades the
summer grass

and i count 
stepping breath
of your heart

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i keep
a light on
for you
quiet voices
each nodding
of an hour

the night
passes cold
the ache
of my fingers

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Not Quite a Goodbye

i can feel
the turn
of your season

the dull
of the rain
gives weight
to the bend
of new leaves

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he eats an orange
every night
before going
to bed

early morning
fades into
the stagnant
ache of summer
he waits

the pitted reflection
of the kitchen window
parts like skin
along the edge
of his knife

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Two Impressions of Early Summer

dull pink rises
over the growing
of the houses

the quiet hours
the morning glories
close their petals
against the evening

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Moving From One Place to Another (with boxes)

there was an answer
in the way
the trees pass
pressing budding branches
against the silvering
pull of the sky

i think of the silence waiting
in an empty room
the light peeling
like skin as the day fades
spreading shadow and
the smell of dust
along the growing edges
of the carpet

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Pen Pals

there is a red sun
setting in the mountains
i remembered your letter
on the kitchen table
unraveling the unsteady pulse
of your memory
into the half light

where are the early mornings?
the music playing
quietly as the pale
warmth of the ocean
passes like a mirror
beside the windows
of my car

we each keep sending
our own regrets

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we move in silence
the yellowing
age of the roses
continues with the tide

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First Impression of Santa Cruz

the waves ebb and
turn like the shadows
hidden in the folds
of a curtain
there is morning somewhere
behind the fog

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morning again
my shoes
are still wet
from the rain
last night

i search
with small fingers
for the beginning
push of the light
the smell of oranges
still lingers on my pillow

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6 Months Later

the dogwood trees
are blooming
their petals
tipped in the silver
of the morning

i'm beginning to like
the quiet again
the shifting hands
of the clock
brushing hours
against my shoulder

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Figment 6

i found your footprints
by the lake
where the sand
met the lazy
tongue of the water

i wanted to tell you
about the oranges
on the counter
the soft curl
of their peels
growing dimmer
in the fading light

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Figment 7

i dreamed
of the ocean again
last night
silver lined
the water and 
the hanging
shadows of the gulls
the waves
curling like fingers
against the sand

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By the Duck Pond

old leaves
the curve
of the water
and now
that the rain
has ended
the trees bend
their branches,
heavy with the push
of the fading season,
towards the shadows growing
in the long
fingers of the grass

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the night outside
grows colder
he is sitting
listening to the shadows
move from room
to room

there are edges
along the corners
of the narrowing room
where the yellow
light of the lamp
does not touch

he is tracing
his memory
along the curve
of her wrist

the snow falls
in separate time

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