A Pretty Frightening Tree

I am going to let my uranium glass collection grow.

A radioactive forest requires a black-lit sky

to loom arboreal sci-fi.

I cannot control other people. I can only control

how I feel towards them.

A glow-in-the-dark object doesn’t glow in the light.

Is that why it’s also called “depression glass”?

There are many hidden messages that will never

be uncovered, let alone understood

though sometimes a kind volunteer named Ellen

will shine a special torch to reveal

a very tall man.

I Don't Know How To Write A Poem

When something ends, it’s hard to know 

if tenderness will come again.

Revolving doors rotate, empty 

in a portentous dream—a fragile thank you next

fails to convince, relentlessly.

The trick is to learn to appreciate 

those compartments full of nobody,

that yearning for poetry.

And then it’s only a matter of passing time

before emptiness turns into love.

The blank page tempts a pen.