mosaic inside irises
glowing between eyelashes

green, gold, yellow, and brown
like fresh leaves on autumn ground

each glance I give
my heart’s footprints

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When you came to be inside me,
our bodies decided we would survive,
and we chose a supporting role in all their mysteries
when survival meant nurture and shelter.

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two hands
to hold or to have

with the trees as our witness,
ask,

for the sparrows that record our song
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There’s a tree which grows on the side of the road.
It stands not alone, nor hidden at the heart of an enchantied woodland.
Ordinary and unassuming, it meekly joins the scattered foliage dotting the local park.

Pass this plant on your trek to work, and notice how you don’t notice it at all.
Listen as it asks no attention of you. Feel the stagnant air as the modest tree
makes no attempt to draw you in. Its aura keeps to itself, taking only the space that its bark requires.

Pass the tree again, however, as you head back home to the warmth of blankets,
the delight and safety of lying down. Pass the tree when the night has fallen, when the sun itself has fallen too.

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Only five times each day, I play like my bed frame
is a tweed lounge seat, my shelf is a welcome desk,
you are my friend by choice, and things are like they used to be-
You here to pay attention like you would have better things to do,
if it weren’t for the fact that I am your best.

Behind closed doors, I mime conversation with transparent friend,
all for imagined your strong, silent type observance.
This poem wasn’t supposed to be embarrassing, but I am
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Lock your irises up and to the right,
summoning mine. Let your side stand square,
your hips too scared. Stare these pupils,
sheltered by my arched brows, down. I can barely see
you through your eyes’ fear. But I know better than
to call such your name, bold challenger, chasing the guards
from the gate of your soul. Welcoming my power to
assume your worth, envisioning yourself to be embracing my heart,
heart you shrouded, mistook for my mere humanity.

The light of moon cascading down
illuminates the night.
An unexplored and tempting scene
awaits my taking flight.

It calls to me.

By morning, tired and less pristine,Read More »

A dreary city
A darkened sky
Gray pastel wind
Cascading by

Clear sheets of rain
Too thick to see
Hustle on
So busily

Her umbrella tipped
His shuffling feetRead More »

The past few days,
walking and sitting fill me with an ache
that insists there’s something quite wrong
with my walking and sitting when they’re not done by your side
in comfortable conversation.

It’s the kind of ache that makes me want to steal your pots, Read More »