
The day fell away,
a slow erosion of sand
on a dying beach.
(August 29, 2026)
by

The day fell away,
a slow erosion of sand
on a dying beach.
(August 29, 2026)

all the meanings, values, irrefutable
definitions we’d/ given ourselves
peel away into broken abstractions.
We have assumed most of who we are,
little of which is true, though believable
within the confines of childhood stories.
After the particulars parade past
with their horrors and delight lost in flames,
we seek solace within our curtained rooms.
Our pets peevishly crawl from the corners
to protect us from the expectations
which cling like the aftermath of a fire.
The shapes and textures of these words matter
for there is little which cannot be burned.
(September 14, 2024)

“One must cultivate one’s own garden.”
—Voltaire
Scootching along on my butt
as I weed the large bed out back,
I hear my mom, dead now
these past fifteen years,
as she sat near her flower beds
pulling weeds. She complained
how she wasn’t as young as she
was anymore. I laugh to myself,
because neither am I anymore
as I pull my weeds forty years later.
(April 16, 2022)

as if suspended
in air by a string—
separate for a moment
from my body— I watched
myself fall suddenly
to the stair’s landing
like a broken puppet
into a bloodied pile
(May 31, 2018)
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