Poetry

Fishing off the causeway I reeled in a frogfish, mottled and bizarre, croaking as it struggled for air.

  We have grown cataracts since this time last year—the dog and I.

last night I was in a conference room but this time it was built from three different jobs one in Hong Kong one in Dallas one in New York one from who knows Ricky and Mel and Gracie were there…

I do not think of you with sea-green eyes, backlit by August sun.