MOONLIGHT IN NASHUA
The moonlight rouses me at half past three,
piercing through thick curtains I had drawn,
but for this gap. My heavy-lidded eyes
return the glare. What’s this bald rock to me
“Just think about her name and hit ‘delete.’”
I want to interrupt, say, “Don’t believe
the steps could be so simple and complete.
Love rifles through your trash bin to retrieve
each image that ...
TO AN EARLY BIRD, MID JUNE
To-we, to-woo, to-woe! Must you sing
so early, bird? Can these announcements wait
until a better time: say, half-past eight?
You don’t think this cacophony will bring
a friend ...