Good for Nothing are Our Memories of Tomorrow

prophecy if true is typically bad

in the short term at least

or it’s not believed which is as good

as not being true

which it usually isn’t

but if it is and it is believed

it’s no good most of all

for the prophet who says

I hate saying I told you so

but I love being right

“The World Is Too Much With Us”

Would William Wordsworth still say that today?
Its defense was us. Poems and placards
weren’t enough. New phrases like “tipping point,
climate change, environmentalism”–
greasy tools too slippery to work with.
Preachy to boot. We worked to break the world
we were given almost as soon as we
got it. But it’s ours, by God, and we’ll get what’s
coming to us. Failed stewards, repentant
caregivers, curate despair long enough
to see what’s left. It adapts, never
needing us like we need it. We still do, though,
to know, to ever grow beyond what we
must see–this world’s place in eternity.

Stranger than Science

God’s love
place and time
constantly attracts
ever closer
taken for granted
denied even
more puzzling
up close
one thing
upon which
all depends
but cannot
be reconciled
on universal
or quantum
levels but
check the heart
that ancient
telescope calibrated
at creation
beats measured
in twos
a hole to
fall ever into
each to each
Him to you

Space City

Same as me, most people move here for work

or love’s inexorable pull. Once here,

the gravity is inescapable.

An ugly sprawl accentuated by

tollways and impassable loops, this place

bulges over belts because expansion

is the mission. Infamous for traffic,

storms, and floods of Biblical proportions,

living here can be a crucible yet

a blessing; this place makes people, native

or alien, space or oil, neighborly.

Practical, we stick together, y’all, choose

here for the loving grit and gracious gumption

that baptizes all who call Houston home.

Power in the Blood

Somehow something

gets in

direct contact

or breathed

gains access

little white

soldiers straight

to work ruthlessly

attacking invaders

no prisoners

no mercy

a remedy

a poison

in the blood

used to be let


sharp implements

just as likely

to kill now

let a fever be

to a point

body transformed

blood made stronger

through malady

if death’s avoided

germ’s gift

blood’s remedy

You Are Here

a red star

an arrow pointing


a beginning

a point A place

or another point

on the journey

plot a path

a trajectory

nothing stops

time’s march

orientates the pilgrim

ever forward

never stopped

all moving

whether going


or leaving

something else

heading to

the same destination

the black dot

that’s not a

flat full stop

but an opening

right here.

Just shoot me if I’m bitten.

In the head, of course,
but that goes
without saying.

Let’s get this straight
right now because
who knows what
we’ll say or do
at the time?

That’s what true love is
at the end of the day:
decisions and grit.
Save me,
but if you can’t,
don’t let me
take you down
with me.

And I’ll do
the same
for you.

13 Ways of Looking at an Apple


Shiny, mottled apples
always waiting in a glass bowl,
keep to themselves mostly.


Every day at lunch,
sometimes breakfast and dinner
too, one crisp apple.


Never trust a snake
or a man, Eve said. Sometimes,
you can’t tell the difference.


Not that it matters that she knew
better, my mother still tried
to grow an apple tree.


My husband doesn’t care
for apples unless
they’re baked in a pie.


Dignified. Simple.
Classic lunchbox staple.


Cezanne’s muse
and doctor’s bane.


Conveyor belts must hate
them. Soft spots betray
careless cashiers and baggers.


Bee and Sun’s love child,
juice dripping down
my chin.


Preferred breakfast beverage,
my boys consume probably
thousands of pounds a year.


Know which stores
have the best
at the best prices.


Like coconut to Summer,
Fall means fake
apple everything.


Dignified until
you reach its core
like the rest of us.