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making love to make our son I kiss her eyes as if God were inside her
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my wife gave birth to my son on the floor of the house I built
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he keeps me up all night shits on my sleeve feverish cries for his mama until dawn lifts the heads of sunflowers
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forget poetry going out jazzed our winter born boy needs his diaper changed her ancient tit me house cleaning singing lullabies like a dove
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wild iris sway as he wades downstream singing
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one God many stories holding you our son walking the blue earth breathing away the pain with friends
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amazing the ups and downs my son chasing ducks Sunday eating together my friend’s cancer battle my wife’s selfless moan
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playing with candlelight my son burnt his finger I warned him
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shower eat help my son memorize the constellations pay bills watch my wife sleep
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worried about rats eating wallboard in the dead of night I get up cover my son
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my son refuses to wear a raincoat in the summer rain
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in his 2nd grade family drawing: my son gladday ready his mom hugging him me head in the clouds our cat smiling
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when rains make bitter grass green with laughter my son springs from the winter of his room with his shedding dog and new baseball yelling to his buddies “Wait up!”
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late afternoon October sycamore shadows blowing elm my son his dog me
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after days of acid rain the lost sun comes promising heaven sent birds and boys’ voices
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dragged my son up the mountain to watch the meteor shower sons and fathers everywhere I hope
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my best friend’s grave she loved singing my son asleep now she’s waving grass wildflowers
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in a vacant lot my freckled face boy floats a t the happy end of his 99¢ kite
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the science of mystical seeds restores your left brain faith in everyday miracles like noisy boys climbing the music of old trees
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if we could come back her a book of flowers our son blades of grass me the invisible wind
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6 to 6 deep plowing then wall-to-wall screaming kids a leaky roof the old tractor my darling one n aked notebooks full of dreams
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sling shot boys kick red and gold leaves swirling down the street of locked doors at the tired end of Indian summer
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my sons reaches for falling snow trampling veined leaves with footloose laughter fearless of winter’s night the certain bones
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true I care more than my son when he plays baseball
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the orange tree my son planted today will fruit after we’re long gone
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the bus driver brags about her son’s first home run wishes she could have been there
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putting flowers on mother’s grave my son holds my hand
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when night rises I yearn when my son comes home I relax when you sing I surrender
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WTC on t.v. my son’s face a cloud of tears
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his father beat him black and blue her husband her their sons their sons
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the eyes told me that I’d play catch with his sons long after he thought breathed
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I argued with my son explained the rules he still did what he wanted
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my boy swaggers down Main St. sure he’ll live forever
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in the back seat good boys brag about good girls what they wanna do with them
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sleepless until my son comes home late then finally I turn over
and rest
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the light in my son’s words the silent stones of his tears
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quiet room unmade bed boys playing in the rain stupid poems awful silence
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all the dawns evening storms lovely breasts good talk tickled son blow plumeria drift
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when the stone of night rises I a thief of songs yearn for the music of a woman’s light and then my out the door son sneaks late back home and I breathe deep again
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I don’t get it gone son lost lover sick friends joyless graying unkissed pissing blood
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half her half me our son didn’t know where to go when she moved out
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when I’m memory my son might think of me when he’s gone I’m only a poem or two
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bombs hunger lacklove prodigal son abandoned fields come down God get back to work