Weeks Before Winter Solstice


                                      “and I am

out with hanterns, looking for myself”

                        –Emily Dickinson

Despite the lights in the house,

The darkness penetrates.

It assumes positions in corners,

Presumptuous in its domain.

Like lions pace a cage’s confines,

I am lost in loops of thought

Looking for a set of keys

Which will let me inside.

Yet, there is no rest within

Nor without which can comfort

Enough to bring a closure;

Locked in my obsessions,

I worry each item in turn,

Tangled like tumblers at a fair.

(November 26, 2018)

Pieces From Different Puzzles



For years, nothing fit.

I’d puzzle over

patterns; imagine

interweaving strands;

trace lines through tangles;

and believed in gods.


To think is belief

it can be known,

the first delusion.

There’s nothing beyond

reason, but paradox.


No grand unified

theory to connect

everything to all,

each box was its own

design, the pieces

cut with precision.


Now what is in front

of me is enough.

I no longer seek

the last missing part

in my broken heart.


(June 8, 2018)