Broken Telegraph Lines

Stop. I’ve said too much

to you. Stop. Like smoke,

I hold traces: conversations,

finger tips along my arm.

Stop. I cannot. Stop.

Love crushed me. Stop.

Still you run rampant

through my poems. Stop.

For years without reply.

Stop. I want you still

To say something. Stop.

What vague answers

Can I give you? Stop.

Other than this. Stop.

(November 21, 2018)

Leaf Fall

7811

 

Somewhere, not here

A field lies open,

Unframed, without

Mind, as if lost,

Waiting on ritual.

 

In Increments,

I have changed.

Each day dawns

Into itself;

There is no other.

 

Hear, and here

As well, I

Still seek

Her across

These echoes:

 

She followed

A fragile winter

Ice across a lake.

I am cold; the wood

Grown dark.

 

(October 30, 2018)

Good Fences

Spotlights illuminate empty stage with dark background. 3d rendering

 

There is nothing here, she says

holding out her heart.

 

He demurs in silence and

refuses to speak his part.

 

No matter, she improvises,

each stone’s cut smooth…

 

…and takes its place, he smiles,

like fate into its groove.

 

There are no walls, she says,

when nothing’s to divide.

 

The walls are real, he says,

everyone has something to hide.

 

Again, she offers her heart;

and, he has forgotten his part

 

(October 21, 2018)

Problematic Musings

 

Unless a care be taken to repair,

happiness is a tenuous lacework,

fragile and personal; the past

and present knot, like fate,

into seemingly intricate patterns

where one thread, time-worn

or simply stressed, snaps,

and the whole unravels into dust.

It comes to a question of hugs

or hurts, as if the two could easily

divide along traceable fault lines,

rather than entwine like caduceus.

I am conflicted as to the intent:

to be wary, or to pretend content.

 

(August 2, 2018)