Poem Category: All

Storm ends
the starfish releasing
each other’s fingers.

Garden table
Wordsworth melting
in the April showers.

Comet
the whole sea of stars
to roam alone in.

On the canvas
yet to brush in her flesh
the artist’s nude.

Home again
moon and I meeting
on the old wood bridge.

Custody week
she counts the panties
into her case.

All set to rustle
the oak leaves corralled
by a rake.

The funeral wreath
mixing with the others
before we grieve.

Washing-suds
cling to her elbow
our talk of divorce.

Lily pad
also green with dawn
the old frog.