frayed threads can’t piece the
bits and scraps of you
into a storyquilt – magnificent in
Maine, your quilting frame took
up a room, but the
piecework I am interested in –
your patched together life, why
some tears were never mended,
the rugged textures of your
craziness – now gauze and ghosts

to keep you out of
trouble, your parents sent you
to our school where you
found Jesus, became a freak
for him, even signed up
for a crusade – Jesus notwithstanding,
trouble had his way with you –
freak landslide while hiking,
no one left standing, now
you dance on twisted legs

your stop in Georgetown, mine
along the road in Redding –
two out-of-towners who
rode the bus for hours
receiving, in return, religious education –
between stops, mostly mindless, staring
numbly out the window, still
I was glad to see
your face at the reunion,
features blunt and blended, soothing

a miracle a pinnacle – hey –
delicate volcano called you down
from your flawed heaven to
tend her lava garden in
that ever needful summer – you
stuttered forth like Shiva, shedding
benefits of ashes, solved riddles
with your hot breath, smoothed
tomb cracks with your shovel,
owe to you my resurrection

Mr. Success – I rode on
your coattails for awhile, or
is that under your wing?
enjoyed it ’til I landed
in another nest wherein
I grew too big to fly –
failure to launch, although I’ll
wave at you from time
to time, best of luck
in your endeavors – Fickle Fledgling

summer boy tire swing muddy
surf and sand your voice –
you mumble – it’s the braces
fight with your brother fight
with the whole world of
crumbled families crumpled smiles problems
typical and only yours alone
it’s hard to know you
hiding in your chambered nautilus
we spent some time together

at night, downtown furniture store,
second floor, some simple lessons
on setting, character, conflict among
the desks – I studied with
him, feeling some affinity for
drama that never did play
out – we students were all
hapless amateurs, one had a
character named “Moo” – or maybe
all she said was “Moo”?