Chair
Sometimes you sit
and gaze at the empty chair.
In that chair
with its open arms
are things you can’t have
completely.
The guest got up
and walked
away
leaving his memory behind
. . .
Cutter
There’s a field, and a cutter who
would take all in time.
There in the moon’s light
walking through stubble, looking
for an edge, a greening edge -
Where the heart turns around, and
quits depleting so.