from The Last Troubadour
One snowy night I was smiled upon by Russian gods & found myself at dinner opposite
from The Auroras
I saw my mother standing there below me On the narrow bank just looking out over the river
My downstairs neighbors were out for the night seeing The Clash in Cleveland
When I came to see you It hurt me how thin you had become
Some days I am happy to be no one The shifting grasses
from The Red Leaves of Night
She told me only three stories In the week before she died
The one who should write my elegy is dead
When we made that bet he said most likely I'd be the loser writing his elegy instead
We'd become friends after I rented the empty studio behind her redwood house in Tiburon
from The Shore
I have always loved the word guitar.
I have no memories of my father on the patio At dusk, strumming a Spanish tune,
from Hush
The way a tired Chippewa woman Who's lost a child gathers up black feathers,