The Bully at the Library

The Bully at the Library

The bully at the library feels itchy, twitchy like
one-too-many sweaters. Like the old man leans in sudden to
pop you one. Like the stump-tailed cat next door.

He carves his misery into a spine of Shakespeare. His thick
hands among the stacks are clumsy birds. Knuckled dumb by
narrowed choice and chance, he settles into story.

For a moment, his fury is lost amid beckoning worlds.

Valentine with Whales

Valentine with Whales

I mean to write what is true, what came, what became without
effort of naming; what teases just beyond the reach of
words, slips out of frame, refuses to be pinned to the page.

I aim to list, to count, account each reason, spin of season,
to order every moment's joyous mess. Knowing if it could
be captured, framed, contained, it would be less.

I offer instead what we felt among circling whales.