Intruder

 A cicada flew in, 

through the door 

I opened 

to wave goodbye 

to you, 

bouncing 

off of walls and 

staircase spindles. 

He disappeared, 

my darling 

(I assume it was 

a he, 

only something 

male 

could be 

so forceful 

and so 

unwanted). 

The Last Time They Met (A Found Poem)

 I have always 

been faithful 

to you- 

the experience 

against which 

everything else 

has been measured. 

Proof of my 

constancy: 

all of my poems 

are about you, 

even when 

they appear 

not to be. 

Poetry

 Poetry 

demands 

both sound 

and silence. 

Silence-

not the 

absence 

of sound, 

but the 

meaning 

of sound 

given space 

to resound.