The young girl thinks

constantly of the proper

manner to serve

a volleyball true.


The smack-smack

of leather against

the polished wood floor

dominates and supersedes


the hard-lined proofs

of geometry; the arc

and vector, with

the slightest bump,


returns her to the game’s

concrete abstractions.


(September 19, 2018)




I must tear the lids

from my eyes to burn

past the ritual shrouds,

if I am to walk

into the air and breathe

enough to speak clear.

What I see filters

through a thousand

thousand veils,

thin and translucent

like water swiftly slides

over a spring rock,

glossing the granite

in a thin sheen

which belies its course nature.

If I stop writing

and close my eyes,

then I submit

to the thousand voices

which slip unimpeded

through the dark

like photons streaming

from a sun

I cannot see.


(February 17, 2018)