Unsigned
a new poem
Unsigned
Late May,
when heavy green
begins to lean in—
green churning
a deeper green—
and bees, fevered,
needle haze
pulled tight
like a sheet
of clear plastic
across the field.
When it dissipates
I see the seams—
the dandelions
that dot
the sloped sides
of the canal;
the ragged lilacs
my vision blurs;
the graffiti fading
beneath the bridge.
What would it mean
to have no need
to speak it—
to leave no mark
that signs a thing seen.
Late May,
the heavy green
leaning in
to spill over.



Gorgeous. Thank you!
i like the title… the unnameable… i read the beckett novel ‘the unnameable’ in a frigid ckassroom in a february night with clark coolidge teaching & i was on page 78 or so & remember looking up at clark & saying “what is going on in this book?” he shook his head said “ just keep reading “ so i did…