v7

Supernova

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

That summer when I couldn’t see
for grief — for who could guarantee
he’d ever walk again? – I’d sing
this song and pump my rusty swing,
till every bottle left the wall,
then start da capo (it was all
or nothing) in a voice, though small,
as if the magic chant might bring
my father walking back to me.

Wing-stroke

Drought

Looking Forward

Balloon

Luminous afterthought of dream?
It vanishes. The body's still.
An improbably big balloon
tied to the manchild's wrist with twine
bobbles in bright air until,
unless the string breaks and it floats
away and leaves us standing here
gaping at an empty sky
in which a pale and waning moon
dims in the deepening blue of day.