I bend to pick up a small bit of trash,
and I think of him crossing the room
to pick up a random piece of paper.
For decades now that one small gesture,
a moment of casual insignificance,
is all that remains of an old man’s life.
(July 12, 2021)
He plods down a street,
head bent, watching
the ground as if afraid
some detail will be enough
to tumble him into hell.
Every moment’s an edge
as each letter in each
word inscribes the air
cleanly, like a tattoo
cut freshly into skin.
(June 9, 2021)
The mud thickness
on my shoes,
as I plod along
singing.
I bend slowly
into the earth;
my voice swallowed
by the wind.
Except for names
of the dead faces,
I remember most
versions of the past;
the storied details
reassure me
that what I knew,
I know.
Despite other’s
revanchist revisions,
I hold to a path
which will lead me home.
(June 8, 2021)
Outside, a butterfly flits
across the sun-dipped tips
of black-eyed Susans
swaying in the wind:
While inside, I struggle
with what to write.
(May 21, 2021)
Along convoluted back trails
misted in vague familiarity,
we wonder in our ruins,
grown strange and inevitable
across dry rivers and dead grass.
Former landmarks fall to rubble,
become base for new towers,
new ways, not ours.
Then as if by accident,
as if with purpose,
we arrive each moment,
near-sighted and deaf
to regale in our misfortune,
repeating yet another iteration
of the story we all wear,
like chains forged from dust.
(May 20, 2021)
yet another day
with another grey sunset,
my glass is empty.
(May 13, 2021)
certainty’s a razor’s edge
pressed lightly across skin
i draw a line along
the length of my arm
tracing a blue vein
a way in a way out
(May 4, 2021)
when I wake
into the night
uncertain
of where
I am
I hear your breath
nearby
a surety
you are
still
a part
of me
(April 15, 2021)
tension slips between
skin and flesh
as skillful as a fishmonger’s
blade slices down
the length of an eel
with one stroke
a practiced motion
without thought
like a priest at prayer
each wooden bead rolled
over fingertips in sync
with the slow muttered vowels
one patterned moment
moving toward the next
with endless patience
as the next ritual waits
for the candle to be lit
the words to flow
less with meaning
than as a balm
to still disquiet
(April 14, 2021)
each evening
the day’s tasks
settle around you
like dust
in an abandoned house
the fire is low
the room dark
you are worn
a ragged coat
hung upon a chair
tomorrow will differ
only in its minutia
what you will have
for dinner and what
words you will say
(April 11, 2021)
