Everlasting Chocolate Cake Haiku
Physicists eat cake.
Each takes one half with each bite. 
Cake lasts forever.
    Moth caught
moth caught
in fine lace curtains
fluttering all day long
then
window open
straight it flies
like knowing
a place to go

yet after a day of living
so many things are changed
    Television Regret Poem
I have missed days 
                         with wind
                                         dancing on its edges
    One Variation on a Theme

I.

She walked out one night
to take the trash out
and never came back.
Somehow between the door
and the garbage can
she stepped out of line.
She wanders somewhere
with garbage in her hand
exchanging glances with
the trash men
and picking up bottles
no deposit
                         no return.
    Midnight — After the Ball (1994)
After they danced
the bold and daring prince
turned into a shy and timid frog
declared love and sat.

After they kissed
the brave and beautiful princess
turned into a tiny bird
sang nervously and fled.
    Wood Chip Pile

Earthworms congregate,
termites raise young. 
It seems a wet ruin
but the center is dry as bone.
    Sunset

All the pink has left the sky, except for a strand or two.
The street lights have started to glow a deep, fluorescent blue.
Grey clouds fly — with streaks of green — 
and blue beyond and blue between.
    She walked through the door

looked around
said
"wait a minute"
and turned around to leave
but the door wasn't there anymore
    She had a beige childhood.

Everything. Her mother dressed in beige.
Her mother dressed her in beige.
Beige ribbons, beige smocks, beige panties, beige socks.
Beige bedspread, beige walls, beige stationary, beige halls.
Only the bathroom was green.
She loved the bathroom going in and
staying for hours.
Consequently her beige mother soon ordered her
not to go into the bathroom
unless she absolutely had to.
She couldn't lie.
So she drank plenty and lots of water
and a few times of flooding her beige panties
convinced her mother.
    Heart String Theory

What is this place in my heart 
that vibrates to the sound of your voice?
Was it always there, a long cord embedded 
in the wall of the chamber waiting to pull free,
set to moving, glistening red and thrumming?
Or did it form out of thin air? Your voice spoke,
the vibration turned to this gut-wound string
and spanned this space now open and singing.

When a heart wakes up — when the ice has broken — when the fire is flowing
What is it that sounds — what is it that pulls — that vibrates?
What is this place in my heart that sounds to the ring of your voice?