Four Poems

A Self-Portrait

Instead of evacuating to public shelters,
he shelters in place.

(She suspects he has enough stored there for a lifetime.
(OPSEC keeps him from letting her know for sure.))

He watches the doorways warily,

his go bag
stuffed with luxuries.

An End

When the bird bath broke in our hands,
you carefully scraped the bowl,

cultured the residue
in an old mason jar,

took out
your childhood
microscope,

disappeared
into observation.

Honeymoon

The approach to the library
from the sea

was a rich carpet of mud.

Circular

“Telegraph operators are often inexperienced, mere reenactors.” (She was not averse to vivisection.) Papers wrapped in plastic kept showing up on her porch. I, for one, broke my ankle delivering an advertisement. (I wanted so much to believe in myself.) Evenings, we would ice my ankle and drink absinthe.