I know a loveless tune.

Our “Satisfaction”
composed some twenty years ago
in Central Park as leaves
a million sunsets flared.

The music yours,
the lyrics mine, our song
was number one with a bullet,
a bullet’s flight so brief.

And after singing that same song
from an Albuquerque open mic,
to Wembley, while wearing just our smiles
in bed— be honest. Please.

A Cracked Vase

Almost dawn
on a Spanish beach,
one moonbeam
lingered, not wanting

to leave us.
The exact intensity of that light
the precise porcelain of my face
can never happen again.

By My Invite

An elephant
came to tea.

China plates slide
collide.

Who invites
an elephant
to tea?

The elephant
hasn’t hands,

cups crumble
into sand.

Who invites
an elephant
to tea?

Without a word,
without a bow,
the elephant exits
through kitchen wall.
She really had to go,
I guess, but
the restroom
was just to
the left.

Porcelain shards long
to slice.