In the Bin

So many lips
and sips between
words exchanged,
some necks handled
lightly, some gripped
with labels peeled,
and a smattering of tops
like schrapnel,
as the night goes on
and the stories get better
until nothing remains
except this giddy
pile of bottles.

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Noticings

The moon is getting closer
and fuller, and so is
everything.  There is beauty

in the broken sugar bowl,
in the stacks
of dusty books,

dog eared
and leaning. Tree shadows
speckle moonlight

around the lawn
and so we gravitate to
the bright places.

The music is sweet.
Our legs go up
the mountain.  This river

runs on and on.
Water softens
the stone.