The pine-box forest

Thanks to human apathy
green-gray vines
grow with impunity

here lies the pine-box forest
each specimen assembled from
copses, large and small,
their origins many
their final place the same

here lies the pine-box forest
contained within –
forlorn, ecstatic
rageful, placid
pleasure, pain,
that feeling, as if you
flew above the world
soaring, effortless
the earth itself within reach

here lies the pine-box forest
where we find one rare piece
of common ground

Mayor of the marble town

Slick with late autumn
rain; alabaster-hued stone
in grim solitude stands.

Silent towers
bear their own burden;
from the few visitors
come only whispers

All epochs
that can be remembered
however faintly
have their own boulevard
of gravel, grey and tan

The marble town
knows not the crime
only where their story
ends.

This field
once held wizened oaks
squinting
at their sprouting
grandchildren

I am
the mayor
of the marble town

and my sole duty
is to wait.