Some Notes Taken While the Media Try to Come to Terms with the Life and Death of Michael Jackson

The lilies we transplanted last week seem to be
doing well. It’s been hot and dry, but they are fine.

My wife’s father didn’t recognize her
when she visited him yesterday. He
is now refusing to take a shower. “I’m
not interested any more in being wet.”

We skipped going to the fireworks on the 4th.
Played Mahjongg instead, listened to
the explosions. When our daughter was little,
she would say, “I even love the booms.”

This summer a friend of mine’s son would be 21.

The Farmers’ Market is worth going to if only
for the shades of red and yellow. And the hats.

I keep hearing “Chilly Winds.” Do you remember it?
“Wish I were a headlight on a westbound train.”

Must remember to put out the recycle bin.

Most everything works sometimes.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen
a kid with a BB gun. Or a slingshot.

Last night I went to look at the stars.
It was cloudy. But the stars were there.
I thought I saw a deer settling down into
sleep on the other side of the wood pile.

Even when I look at our dog
I’m surrounded by doubt.

Sleep. Four violins. Wind on its way.