i woke up last night.
the moon glowed yellow above
still air and water.


pinwheel spins slowly
stuck down in the flower bed
on a cloudy day.


my grandfather talks
about acetylene in
the bed of a truck.


wicker furniture
has lost its definition
under paint layers.


hazy blue mountains
and stacked firewood beside
an empty trailer.


mountain valley sewn
like a quilt from uneven
squares of bright sunlight.


the car swerves across
the highway as my mother
studies the road map.


miami mustang
jacked up on firewood logs in
backwoods new hampshire.


brush blows sideways as
a whistling battalion
of cloud charges past.


she slammed on the brakes
two times: once for a bear and
once for a large rock.


the chubby young boys
dip sleeveless shirts in the brook
and then wring it out.


he videotapes
a large fake moose while we look
at an old carriage.


bring distant points of
interest within close range with
use of this machine.


we sit on the floor
at the top of the tower,
and we catch our breath.


he wears a suit and
a yamaka, and pilots
a blue bumper boat.


mom records a short
video of her attempt
to take a photo.


robert uses the
sucking power of his mouth
to drink iced water.


the plastic cups are
adorned with multicolored
dinosaurs playing.


robert is too scared
of haiku's to write them at
the dinner table.


robert is just a
little baby. "waa waa waa
waa." he cries from fear.