Crashing waves and sparkling brooks
abound beyond, crossing into valleys,
flowers shaded like plums in the night.
Willows erupt towards the sky, wood bursting upwards
as their vines droop towards the salty earth.
Chitters and cackles of long-gone life echo;
did I imagine it?
no, there’s the low croon of the mourning dove
and the undulating laugh of the chickadee
somewhere in the tangled trees.
sun beating down like a bat, swathing the land
in a mythical golden brilliance
weaving into my brain
linking inexplicably to the chitters
the cackles
the willows
before me.
light beating
birds howling
waves resounding
thoughts clearing
Then I open my eyes
and am banished to the reality
of silent, moon-swept streets.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 12:51 PM UTC
if a ship was taken apart,
boards floating out to sea like sailors’ coffins
and replaced with unrotted wood, a well-oiled wheel;
is it the same ship?
when that which suffered cannons and storms,
like Polites to Odysseus, fades away,
sinking to the ocean floor?
they call out from the depths,
seeing the shadow of the ship they once were
pass over them in the open sea.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 10:55 PM UTC
From willow trees and sharp-cut stone,
Of weathered sight and still storm skies.
A wolf that, placid, watches, roams;
Through gentle, fierce, and wild eyes.
Yet when his hand glides o’er the string
From wolf emerges graceful swan.
Such notes of glass and porcelain ring;
A gentle sky, a brightening dawn.
The swan sings throatedly and rich,
Yet pure, unblemished notes arise.
With sacred spools of thread, they stitch
Together, ‘till the last note dies.
But even swan-eyed, he won’t see;
He’ll never know to look for me.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 3:24 PM UTC
tiny, yellow, unassuming
the mustard seed on the black marble of the kitchen island
the jar casting a strange little shadow on the seed
like a star, glimmering at twilight,
pondering the familiar moment
when suddenly i’m pulled back.
back to a time when we gazed at the stars
like mustard seeds scattered all across the counter
and swore that we’d one day reach them,
dancing around mustard plants that towered high above us
and grasping for the seeds still clinging to the pods.
now i’m sitting solitary in our apartment
wondering what i’ll do now that there’s only one seed,
set against the finite expanse of the kitchen island.
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 9:37 PM UTC
Silent is the song of a nightingale
A song with nothing to say
The nightingale’s song is silent
Only notes floating on the wind
Scorned is the song of a crow
Who looses its cry falsely
Demanding attention forevermore
From the masses below
Scarce is the song of an eagle
Who speaks never again
But whose yellow eyes bore
Like twin lanterns in the night
Silent, scorned, and scarce
Amid the symphony
Yet silent they remain
Singing a silent song
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 7:49 PM UTC
Wordless is the poet in my chest
Crisped in my heart’s far-reaching balefire
Down, down I fall from ardor’s fiery crest
Gone is the soulful “v” of birds bound west,
The jesting gleams and grins of grounded fliers
Wordless is the poet in my chest
***** filled with rhythmless detest
Inspired by the world’s abundant ire
Down, down I fall from ardor’s fiery crest
Lucifer fell from the light, the blessed,
Yet found his song, reborn into the fire
Wordless is the poet in my chest
Wait! What sweet sound does now pierce my breast,
Mending my heart’s felled flesh? - A lyre.
Slowing my fall from ardor’s fiery crest
Unbound is all fervour, all thought repressed
By spirit rising, rising ever-higher
Wordless is the poet in my chest
Up, up I soar towards ardor’s fiery crest
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 7:18 PM UTC