Two Poems

One last insult

Bleached stones,
spotty grass,
rusted gates,
water-marked walls:


here weeds, not flowers,
mark memories;


and exhaust
throws incense
over the dead.

Communion: failure

the clerks stare
down long, unbusy aisles.


The feast is gathered
but the customers are gone,
slid back to ancient orbits



No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.