within a multitude of soft tongues
a flame whispers accusations
around the kindling at your feet
and with a puff from her lips
it flourishes like angelic trumpets
curling toward a blackening sky
then soon enough
the fire fades
to a boredom
akin to sadness
it’s not there
in its absence
as sadness pervades
with lackadaisical ease
(April 5, 2021)
I made her breakfast:
cheese, bread, and a sliced red pear–
what love can offer.
(October 6, 2019)
No one is alone:
the pale, pale moon of morning
offered to us all.
(August 16, 2020)
“Above all, don’t lie to yourself.”
||Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
I can lie to myself easily enough,
With small shifts in the story to adjust
The present view, to accommodate
a new façade on the old denouement.
Although, it is less work to accept
The dominant narrative; the mundane
Given, leading toward an obvious proof;
Someone else’s truth not your own.
I am so tired, and there are so many
Steps to manage the smallest crisis:
What to buy for dinner? Should I change
Lanes now, or wait a mile or two.
I simply rearrange the bread crumbs
I’ve dropped for you along the way.
(December 20, 2017)
If I left silence
Here instead of these blue words,
Would it matter now?
Her breath disturbs the stillness
Of the winter morning air.
(August 25, 2017)