I am a skeleton wrapped
in failing flesh; I wheeze
and my skin bursts open.
I dreamed I was some
other, then woke to see
it was true. Heaven
is too far way to lean
against. I am no sword.
Even upon reflection,
no such fame awaits me:
too many complications
settle to the ground like dust.
(April 18, 2022)
for years anger raged
through me, then crow laughed
clearing the dust from the air
now I see—
in dappled sunlight
through the palace halls
her pale face sings
(January 2, 2022)
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)
Static allowed no pauses
to slip his supplications
into their conversations.
Filled with honey, his mouth,
spoke too slowly, too low,
to be heard over the swarm
of bees infesting her ears.
The tea cup had no depth
beyond the damp leaves
he fingered metaphorically.
It was too late to go back,
to be what he was not,
to grow his silent desires
from the salted earth.
(May 28, 2018)
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