Category: Poetry

Even as I breathe, you are always more than simple respiration – sure phrenic nerve and diaphragm, intercostal muscles and thoracic cavity engage the ocean of air you left behind and left to me, left me. I know I am enough, but...

                    We are all seeking something: a montage,           a horizon, a reveal, the ease of pacing the ridge. Above the bay on the pebble and dirt path                     I walk, but more slowly – more careful now  ...

(Indianapolis Indiana) out my bedroom late-night window sneaking to climb a wrought iron fence only full-moon star-lit cold or warm nights the hood dogs baying at their moon god I wandered with my loving ghosts meandering the...

Golden Leaves are unlatching from the maple, swinging in the breeze with the motion of birds. A V-formation of geese pulls wind through their wings, quickly disappear over Palm Pond. I understand the beauty of being in...

It’s not overrated to watch leaves fall in the autumn, unless you’re steeped in desolation from doing it alone. Golden Leaves the size of God’s hands spin down from the maple, leaving the tree brown and stark....

Peel the gauze. If “open” is a better word than peel, let us wait for the sparkle, likely reflecting from solaced tears. The sense of Sight had curled up in the temples, snug, waiting to be freed another way. There must be...

You, with the halo, mind your rings for they once lived in trees. Before they were christened into a baby pen, chiseled from the inside of an oak. Are the stars below, above or around? Nearness clarifies the turquoise, the navy,...

Praise the evening for it has severed ties with shadows, heaping rice kept for a wedding we had anticipated and missed. The morning will bend its knees; thus say goodbye to the emptying of night, and its continuum. There, I pick...

There was a memorial in the park today. The people gathered near the pavilion, their heads bowed, the trees above lowered their branches, even the sun looked down and spread its mottled light through the maples, as the squirrels...

It’s not the sharp pain of a snapped-back garter belt or the yank of a door slam pulling out a tooth. It’s a bandage slowly peeled, lifting off a scab. She stokes the fire he lit in the brick fireplace, then from her bed watches...