the littlest ghost —

curious 

about my bandaid

streets getting ready,

every sidewalk a stage —

Hallowe’en eve

taking her name

out of my address book —

first frost of many

for C.R., in memoriam

all the words you said

slipping through even as I try —

moonlight, here and not

for C.R., in memoriam

warming autumn sun

seeming somehow obscene now —

death reframes the day

for C.R., in memoriam

clouds parting

to show only more clouds —

late October

for A.T., in solidarity

as you walk away

I write you into the credits —

home movie

late night walk —

the fog somehow always

further down the road

my father’s birthday —

all day long, imagining 

him as a baby

deer drifting closer

to each other as we pass —

my niece comes home

morning light —

those first few seconds

of forgetting

for C.R., in memoriam

quick brush of her lips

against the back of my neck —

waxing crescent moon

gaps amongst the leaves —

I carry my blanket

around with me

fleeting hawk shadow —

our back yard garden

has never been this still

even your outline

calls me back to myself —

trees against the night sky

out of shape —

no matter how fast I am

this fruit fly is faster

mist turning to rain —

the feeling of her absence

coalescing

for C.R., in memoriam

the wind falls away —

when was the last time

I heard her voice?

for C.R., in memoriam

again and again —

we gasp at the sweet sight

of each other

walnuts all balled up

as if to invite my kick —

the moon keeps rolling

cupping my hands

around the mayfly —

gentle meets gentle

caught watching the creek

as the leaves snag and spin —

early October

re-weaving patterns —

noticing things as you would

all these years later

along the way

there are leaves

we like to touch

after the hurricane

sparrows too tired to fly —

all we can do is look

the last train whistle —

anyone who isn’t home

can’t get there now

forgetting the names

of the flowers you planted —

no one to ask, now

this not-quite-full moon —

plenty of light to see

the faces we miss

maybe this firefly

was the last one of the year —

practicing good-bye

deer in the moonlight

younger ones lagging behind —

we know the feeling

our silence

full of something going on — 

starlight between trees