If there was
God I think
we’d be damn
sure of it

Fishkill Rural Cemetery



Ducks there
Never flew south
I sat in my car
Smoking a joint
One waddled
Through the slush
Toward the highway
Into traffic
It was white



All the faithful departed
They had incontrovertibility



Walked wittingly 
Through all the years
Of rain in Amsterdam



if you don’t
hear from me
i've arrived

Portugal



Your ruins
Still stand
The dogs bark