Sound from the recording studio

Trumpet music spills

into this strange winter

heat and into the street

as I smoke a cigarette

and watch the smoke rise

and dance with the breeze

into the naked trees, catching

it like a dream catcher

dangling outside

a trading post in the desert

somewhere on I-40

all the way home.

Raleigh, NC

2-22-2012

She smiled, too

There's a girl who the furniture salesman speaks to

this morning -- maybe he, or maybe especially he,

wants coffee and sense of community at breakfast

and before work. Blue, brown, red and beige houses

are in the neighborhood across the street, visible only

because the bare, spiderweb-like trees

lost all their leaves. It is winter here,

(Now, don't forget to wear your coat!

she says as he gets up) so smoke climbs

up and out of chimneys and disappears into the big

Carolina-blue sky like a girl whispering truths

into an ear of a furniture salesman,

"and, by the way,

the grits down the street

are so

much better than the ones here."

Raleigh, NC

1-10-2012