To E. B.

Last night, I spoke
your name in a crowded room.
The place fell silent.
Even in my dreams, they've heard
the news of your death.


I cannot keep you
crumpled like a poem
in my chest pocket
you, who will not fold
even to my hand’s pressure


the bridge over
an empty riverbed…
my mother offers advice


old portage path
a chipmunk peeps out
from the fox’s skull

Counting Cars

counting cars
as the train rolls past
a stranger’s wave

blackbird song

blackbird song
as far as the road goes
between the hills

Noon Rush

noon rush...
the spray of river water
on hot concrete