string ten (in a cemetery)

the trees cast a net
of sound
in wind


(if tomorrow
can bother
being yesterday)


who am I to say
if you fall
you rise


I find
one of your hairs
in a book


we stand on a promontory
and cast nets


into a photograph
where I’m going
Be Right Back


Jogging Through a Cemetery

Do you recognize the turn of the  morning
I don’t
It’s like the translucent grey handle
At the top of the poem
I just now noticed

I can see through it
Push down on it to write
An image of the window’s sky
Will appear to be sponsored
As this moment

Appears to be sponsored

As you appear to be ashes

By your name

That strange tethered animal

“Meaner than a junkyard dog”