Folding new socks and thinking of the months I lived in my car. The cold of a new winter beginning. The thrift shop blanket I switched the tag on to save a fiver. Enough for food from a sunset to the next. Some days all at once. Others with nibbles through the hours.   My drawer is full. Full of new socks. I am unable to imagine a simpler symbol of my riches. And the drawer pulls adjacent to another. And there are four more drawers overflowing with abundance. The ease of my m

these waning days with a year nearing end weary with search for where new energies can begin and the constant calloused tending of the aging perimeter fences needing mend I wrote too many letters to the unliving drank a little too much cheap wine and kept forgetting to think of it all as inexpensive though my accumulations have been dutifully recorded by my many apps except for what mattered like those times I awoke in the stillness of the still dark everything silent and pur

They call it an hour gained but it all feels irretrievably lost. The Moon near full took precedence. Bluing no evidence there had ever been a summer.   The Dark Hour is the beginning of Winter in my mind. Calendric precision aside, the reversal of time turns my season cold from warm. The jet lag first week of a morning brain dawning in confused ache. The evening commute burned into a night grind of near midnight feel filled with head-on headlights refraction.   October ghosts

The smell of humid soaked cypress and loblolly. A pileated drills. The softwood spine of a hundred-foot pine offers the meal. Threads of...

September offers no immediacy. I am thankful for this truth. This year brings three clear weeks between the end and perceived end of...