your absence is a misty morning—
light filtering through dew and the cloud-like blur of sleepiness.
a morning glittering with potential—
tainted by that all-too-familiar knowing that no morning will ever again greet you.
that no sunlight will stream across your face—
or create a prism in the steam from your coffee mug.
no birdsong will delight your ears at daybreak—
no goose-bumped skin will ever again respond to the waxing of night’s chill.
your absence is the lifting fog that evaporates into clear air-
somehow thicker without you in it.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 8:23 PM UTC
What remains of me at the end of this life?
This decade?
This epoch?
At the very end of all that is,
will my spirit still soar as fragmented energy?
As pulses of light—a sort of post-existence fire?
Will anyone or anything know and
bear witness to what once was—
to the reality that I presently occupy?
And will it matter—does it matter—if nothing does?
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 9:08 PM UTC
Time whiles away
in moments joyous and
moments broken.
Rest here, take a breath.
The sun has set, yes,
but on the morrow she will
rise again
bathing the hills in light.
What appear as mountains in this shadow,
will again be nothing more
than the incline
leading from this valley.
So rest, weary soul,
in the morning sun you can
begin again
your journey.
Apr 12
Apr 12, 2026 at 7:09 PM UTC
o, giddy flame, why lead thou me so far away?
long into the night and far into the waters have i sought your solace.
yet, not a thing have i found that will this darkness keep at bay.
why do you elude me so?
o, sweet igni, why keep thou to thyself thy precious light?
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 9:10 PM UTC
You glanced at me one summer night in a bar down by the bay.
You were old enough to be my mother.
Chestnut hair, eyes of
almond; peach lips.
Just a single turn of your head–
your eyes did not linger upon me
–but upon you, mine did.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 9:06 PM UTC