A Dagger Which I See Before

from “Renditions of Change” a work in progress


Tentatively, I stumble down

the hall in the dark. This time,

this is not a dream. I tell

myself I will kill myself

tomorrow. I laugh, as if

I was joking. Then I hear

a draft of a first line,

and hope I can hold it long

enough to write it down

before I drown in a river

of my own clotted blood.

(February 9, 2019)




Even against prevailing winds,

the pattern persists—Happiness

is a myth. Too troubled to

untangle this moment from

the last, I am trapped in

a quandary of happenstance,

an Irish know woven from briar.

Unlike Lao Tzu by a pond, I hesitate

allowing decisions to pass undecided.

I don’t wait for the wind to fall,

or the murk to settle into clarity.

(February 8, 2019)



from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress

We ate a simple shared meal,

a sixteen-bean soup with bits

of Christmas ham. Afterward

we played a counting card game:

They laughed and talked awkwardly,

as players dropped from the game.

I realized, once again,

I do not fit in.

(January 31, 2019)