I lie bleached to the bone
under stars
and sun.
Gulls scream.
Children play.
Wind flutes
through my marrow.
Waves carry endless whispers
of distant shores.
Where once
life pulsed
to my furthest branch and leaf,
I hold no memory
of the storm
that cast me
into wind and windy depths.
No memory
of the last leaf,
the bark stripped
to starkness.
I lie bleached to the bone
under stars
and sun.
With nothing to tend,
I exist.
I remain.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 11:07 PM UTC
One heartbeat, one mile.
Orbits turn
in your light.
Ten thousand moons I hold—
mine echoing yours,
still reaching.
While the stars grow cold,
we become
one light.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 11:21 PM UTC
“Seek happiness,” she says,
“and harmony in life.”
Spring, a memory.
Summer, brief.
Winter is here.
Time, the intemperate observer—
it has carried me
into an old man,
a current
that asks no consent.
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 9:46 PM UTC
Hector, the hummingbird.
Small and flighty.
Green coat, crimson throat.
Likes sweet flowers—
salvia, mint, honeysuckle.
Emits sharp chits, hovers perfectly.
Dips and drinks.
Sweet nectar drips.
Freeze. You move.
He startles.
You are marked.
Buzz past your ear.
A watchful eye from a distance,
a warning to others
when you are near.
You remain calm.
Water his garden.
Flowers bloom for his claim.
You might see him come close
and turn his back.
You are enemy no more.
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 11:13 AM UTC
You say you love me.
You see me in the blazing light,
naked to my flaws.
So I trust you
to walk beside me on the path—
a steady glow
through shadow
and through light.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 10:40 PM UTC
She—
and her beauty—
lay in languid repose
beneath the warmth
of an autumn sun,
painting colors—
ephemeral, a dream.
I held the sight
in thought,
before it became a memory,
across space and time—
not to keep it,
only to let it finish falling.
Leaves burned through
their final autumn hues,
each one lingering
until the last one fell.
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 9:03 PM UTC
Two men. Sunset.
A park bench, gray and weathered.
They sit.
If friends, they are stone.
Silence is a heavy, shared thing.
They talk of old rains and bad knees.
The words are short.
They do not need to fill the air.
If strangers, they are glass.
They tap the edges to see if they break.
“Cold,” one says.
“Late,” the other answers.
They trade small coins of talk.
Then they walk away.
Sometimes they say nothing.
The sun goes down.
The bench holds them both.
It is enough.
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 7:46 PM UTC
Pond heron ponders
Fish hide in the reeds
Morning lies still.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 12:00 PM UTC
it is so sad to know
of the dreams that wont
come true.
it is so to know that
delicate things have disappeared
in the world
for want of a little love.
and of the feeble voices
that have been smothered
were in need of a little strength.
The meek shall inherit
the earth
in a universe where
the constants spare
moments to celebrate
the faint and the unheard.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 6:59 PM UTC
I am
like the nut
that's fallen into
a ***** crack.
The invisible hand
tries
but cannot reach
to prise
this nut
to a normal life.
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC