Golden Grace

At the post office

filling out forms to return

Jimmy’s unopened meds.

Woman behind the counter

asks me what kind of dog I have.

I burst into tears.

She calls a coworker to tend her station.

“Meet me at the door around the corner. 

I go. She opens the door.

“Come here, hon. It’s hard. I know.

They’re like family.”

She hugs me.

Her name is Grace.






Across empty fields, acres apart,

dogs howl soulfully

at the partial moon.

I, standing in the dark.

join my song to theirs

and together we serenade the rising moon.


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Tossed And Scattered

Where will they settle,

these leaves tossed by a restless

wind – much like my scattered thoughts?


Seasonal Play

Autumn tones down its act,

preparing for

Winter’s somber show.