gods

light shimmers.

like memory,

it searches for

form in the long

withdrawing waves.

reflections fracture.

the surface is vacant.

something ignites,

a teardrop of faith,

and we gather courage

to look upward.

only for a moment,

enough to say

we dared,

enough to think

we too

might be gods.

all of this

silent and open
autumn will
soon arrive
quietly
bringing something new
beneath the surface
familiar yet concealed
hidden behind
a veil
this is part of life
all of
this
ache and pleasure
hidden feelings
desiring beauty

between tides

night on the coast
suspended in the hush
between tides,
the moon is distant,
and hovers above
the still water.
I dissolve into the hush
and imagine
what waits beneath
the surface.
the water, salty and thick,
is filling the hollows
where memory is
and the air stands still
only inches above.
even in dim coves,
in the corners,
among the seaweed,
shells and stones,
in the silent night,
the patient, untouched
air waits.

dawn’s breath

A shadow circles above,
patient,
like a memory
that refuses to fade.
It moves across the raw skin
of morning,
giving way to dust,
unraveling, and dissolving
into dawn’s breath.
The day collects the remnants.
I fade into the half-light,
without a distinct shape.
I wait for the earth
to call me home,
but sleep arrives
first, thick and complete.

time

time
things are unfolding

flower buds appear
then petals open

time keeps unfolding

now
everything moves toward dust

time seems to unfold backward

am I becoming the dust
just a petal

time

tell me things

in

in dreams, my body
tells me things

i study you
my
my body feels so inadequate

so very
loved, yet
still so inadequate for this

in dreams
my body tells me things

my body tells
me in dreams
of things

my body is always primal

body


to hide pain or joy
or even joyful pain
or pleasure

body
tell me things
things

told to me
by my body

only a lilac tree

buds curl inward;

last year’s blossoms

fold in on themselves,

becoming memories.

only a

lilac tree could hold these lessons

with

such bold defiance.

blossoms

so close to blooming,

and last

year’s buds are only memories now

a child. the rain.

i pressed a leaf

between the pages of a book

in a chapter i

haven’t read yet.

it was a dark purple leaf

with crimson veins

from a season that has already passed

from a season i wanted to keep

saved in a timeless moment,

like a child laughing at

the rain.

a child who hasn’t grown jaded yet,

always curious,

and free,

always feeling safe

even in the unknown,

at home with questions,

questions wrapped up in life,

and life itself held as a question.