Under the Red Canoe is an in-progress book of poetry and prose. 

Notes for Julia:    from under the red canoe


Remember the red canoe?


I won’t tell if you don’t.

Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.

Tell me, I promise I’ll keep it a secret.


We float until we’re out of air.



It was the perfect hiding place for frogs -

each morning we chased them as they fled.


We could never figure out why the ones we caught always died.


On here and there,

This is the place of mornings.


The place where dawn forever breaks over grey

over grey

over grey. And I wait.


Here at the edge of the world

the dark plays tricks on my eyes,

the waves on my ears,

the smoke on my mind.


Like dusk in the city.


The summer was always too bright.

Hot days soaking sun-bleached sights

‘til the asphalt burned in neon lights.

Neon dusks furthered neon nights,



and I walked and thought of you.


We were supposed to see the world.


Summer city soirees were never in your hand.


This is the place of mournings.