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Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.

Two bikers, the bartender, me, and a skinny girl in skintight blue jeans.

She possessed a quality that made one forget all shortcomings.

Gerard sat in the shadow, watching his son steal about like a thief.

I loved the game not for its shapes alone, but for symmetry’s quiet flash.

Somehow my confession became a sharp knife I kept hidden in a drawer.

He could not stop marveling at the velvet quality of
her skin.

The palm’s outline shimmied in the sunlight against the aqua curtain.

If I weaseled out of Bible study a little early, he’d speed me to the gym.

Rays burst from behind the mountain, sweep the broad beach.

Those are the horses you win on, the ones that want to kill you.

Each year we fail to imagine how the days will blanch, the air will harden.

It’s a small deposit, but I’m putting my faith in reincarnation.

I’m just wired hard for hunting, and not so much at all for fishing.

“This is no vacation,” I told friends and reluctant donors.

Horses in those days were celebrities in their own right.

Robin Troy

When you turn fifty, you have to prove to yourself you’ve got something left.

The blackness of her hair seemed to pull the color from her body.

Stable-keeper’s kids know broken then healed, but healed with limits.

He is not in the position to lose a friend. Not when one is all he has.

I read that poem twice, didn’t I? I must have wanted to hear it again.

The psychology in climbing is to look ahead, but that trick was little help.

It is not surprising that her solo marathon did not turn out as planned.

Dr. Seuss taught me something about the way words can be used.

A finger on the bell, a quick sprint on light feet, and then stifled laughter.

I hang there, upside down, watching Bronwyn, her face beatific.

For days after she left him, he roamed the house, unable to function.

I found it impossible not to imagine a radiant future for myself.