too old now
to feel bad about
feeling good
new passport
I calculate my age
at its expiration
summer downpour —
ghosts of a thousand cranes
on the pavement
gentle summer night
my daughter’s sobs, the sound
of trains passing
amid fireflies
his evening walks
shorter now
after our swim
we talk, lingering
in the deep end
August night
the porch light bulb
still missing
turning sixty
I cut all the deadheads
off the roses
forest floor once upon all the time in the world
happy hour
the barmaid laughs
at all my jokes