What makes the morning cool and gray, sprinklers

rinsing the grass and light settling on the shoreline of dawn,

gives one  peace of mind

or its haunting.


Lawn chairs are folded, neighbors asleep, all shadows

non-human except mine — and still,  I hear someone

coughing. A low, smoker’s cough. The sound familiar

but you’re away on business.


A long stretch of continent and time. I’d say somewhere

on a twilit bridge watching instinct

move  wild  swans along the river. Chess pieces

with no opponent


just questions of strategy. How to win back that share

of tolerance  we’ve lost within the last

few months. But not love (which never left)  Listen, the wind

strikes something briskly, mountain shale to ignite the sun;

and somewhere you strike a match. The moment flares, a last look

as willows drag the water for deeper thought

and I hear  more coughing —


or maybe the sky

clearing its throat of daylight’s silt.



  1. Wow, the daylight clearing its throat. That’s very original and creative. I never would have thought of that. I can really picture all the things you describe in this poem. You did an excellent job. Thank you so much for sharing!


  2. Hi Michael

    thanks so much for commenting on my poem. And Yes, there is a melancholy feel to this piece and the relationship it reveals.

    Hi Sarah

    So glad you enjoyed this one and deeply appreciate your kind words and encouragement. I am glad you liked this poem and appreciate your constant support and interest in my work.

    Hi Parker,

    Glad you picked up on that analogy. When writing this, it seemed like the sky was clearing its throat and the image came into my head. I appreciate your input

    Hi Craig,

    Thanks so much for reading and commenting on my work I appreciate it!

    Take care everyone and Happy New Year,
    My Best


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