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to whit:

She hangs thus.
the stars humbled;
some remnant of blue in this night sky
embraces the moon,
a halo around the evening's celebrity.

We tiptoe out
poorly attired;
don't want the neighbors to see
this doughty couple looking up,
blinking sand from our eyes
and falling in love.

What is a recipe
if not a menu of experiences
and the good sense to
single out those
that taste good together.


and then
the fireflies became jazz
and under a full moon
lit up like
Coltrane's saxophone.

Oh I sway,
this is magic
a warm illusion
that oddly
makes me goosebumpy.
Temperature notwithstanding.

I know you are there,
a rumba of air
moving twixt those twinkle lit bugs.
I miss you.
Come to me in sleep
like the piece we saw at the Met.
You said it would happen.


The Escapades of Odysseus 64x48


We see things
Record them
Imagine things
Paint them
All felt and beloved
But not held


A drowning man Finds solace In kelp and hope Drawing by Mike Manley


Today My jungle life


(a clear night, a dimming brain)

How many breaths have
Passed from these lips?
Floating into a shroud of dark sky,
They imagined the moon cared.

The moon belongs to me.
Though I shared it once and again.
I have lingered alone with it
And our secrets are solemn.

I know the stars. Distant. Mysterious.
Taken by the day , returned at night.
For me to count them one by one
And with each accounting say goodbye.


It’s close enough to call it a painting
It tells this story:

An ascent
Moving away

Something dead
And long mourned


This happened 4/26/18

Olivia Rebecca

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