bleak midwinterdisinterested and as then to see she turnand from her shoulders does her hairshakethe lithe frost

The Caribbean heat piles down from the skyPulling myrtle flowersDownThrough the dense rainRelieving the heavens of their drenched and beautiful burdenIn the doorwayI sitBarefootWhite dressAnd see through Both waysClaiming my corner of reliefMy bit of the sighing sky, its shoulders dropped In a heavy exhale

In our thirtiessomewherehe wound our teenage loveinto a poem sent me a copyclaiming he sacrificed andpenned it in blood.a wasted knight errant charging in to kill a monster for the love of a beautiful woman only there was no monster just ralphie

On the levalois line, I sleep. The trains halt and clang up through earth to let me feel the ground, their ground, the tracks and oil and rats. Up through the floor boardsAnd the dial down stairs I can’t read it. I want to find out what it is but I don’t want to know…

The earth has won, as is always the case. New grass reclaims its old place Along the metal rim of the in-ground vase where no one has left flowers. Petals of the roses I’ve left are captured and held fast to the ground, somehow, each a notch for a week gone by.I could, you know,…

I want to fire off into an ancient canyon deep and unstirring only to wait above the hollowed space and answer to the report with your name. your name, peeling like a fractured doll waging war with the silent slopes of eons old rock and then louder, say it louder answering that old echo of…