Poem Category: All

Friday night is stormy
yet in our seance
the taps paint another world.

Interstate bus – –
the city lights pour
into puddles.

Intersection
it’s the vintage car
most see.

After the re-union
with school friends
her muscatel breath.

late night jazz
in saxophone notes
my whiskey on ice.

the scarecrow turns
on the horizon
a sliver of the moon.

grandpa’s windscreen
the build-up of salt
from the sea spray.

swinging curtains
in the cheval mirror
a hummingbird’s panic.

pool lights
our skinny dipping
to the brightest middle.

late dusk
the swings to moon-glow
the swing and I.