2010s · All the Tiny Anchors · Poetry

Last Hour of 37

Just before midnight, I lay under
the Palms Springs sky
on silver-blue foam in a
saltwater pool with the edge
of your tongue and curves
of your long fingers pulling
me towards your liberation
of my body from
the taut strings of
my bathing suit
around my neck.

First published in one sentence poems.

2010s · Poetry · Unanchored

Night Birds

At night, late past
twelve, I hear them.

Loud chirping birds
clear like night sounds

unmuddied by day
droning. They are

unapologetic. Sharp-
shouting, “I am heard!”

No contest for their
platform, no shove-

pushing, first-in-line
claim-staking. They

are joyous bastards.

Originally published in Eunoia Review, 11-3-13