Author: Jay Friedenberg

small town waitress
the slight sadness
behind her smile

mesa shadows
sheltering briefly
in the adobe ruins

multiverse –
the thirty-six views
of Mount Fuji

learning
to let go –
late summer roses

creeping fog
the distant thrum
of a harbor tug

aquarium nightshift
from one of the tanks —
the slap of a fin

along the ramparts
of the ruined fort
wild parsnip

new quarantine
a teakettle
starts to scream

bumper to bumper wildflowers along the interstate

St. Mark’s Square
a cloud of pigeons unveils
a cloud of tourists

pain meds
wandering a maze
of dim corridors

civil war cemetery
the flower holders
empty

a horse gallops
in flickering firelight
Lascaux cave

end-of-season
one after another
the     carnival     lights     blink     out

late afternoon
each tombstone
in its neighbor’s shadow

frozen lake —
her intentions
not so transparent