Beach House

You’d have thought those years living in Holland, land of lactose giants, would have helped. Instead, I am where I am, forever seeking higher ground. In my favorite photo, I stand on a tree stump, my arm draped over her shoulder. She looks up, adoringly.

Shortly after we married, she ditched her heels for penny loafers. Today I find her in the closet, stroking her size 10 Manolos. She’s wearing ballet flats.

a plover
at low tide . . .
one step at a time

The Gloaming

My niece told me they were bats. Returning from their day's flight, making a vortex over the chimney across the street, a funnel of wings and black bodies, I knew they were swifts. There were so many it took a while before they vanished into their roost. For a few moments I left my own swirl of thoughts, lifted away into cloud and sky. The place the swifts left vacant.

this old factory town
fading into
summer dusk