What we thought we
had

more of

a gold-plated
something

showed we never had
to begin with

a successful person doesn't
wear a watch.

I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra

II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator

III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination

A girl once twirled in her garden bright,
Her laughter dancing with morning light.
Unaware, across the gate,
A man stood still — a twist of fate.

She froze mid-spin, his shadow near,
A stranger’s gaze, a rising fear.
She fled inside, heart clenched with fright,
Curtains drawn, away from sight.

The morning after, schoolbag tight,
She stepped into the waking light.
And saw the man — calm, still, and kind…
With quiet eyes, yet stone-cold blind.

No threat, no stare, no lurking harm,
Just silence wrapped in human form.
That day she learned what masks can hide,
Not all are wrong, not all are right.

For even truth wears borrowed face,
And safety isn't always grace.
The world, it spins in shades of grey —
Not all who watch can take away.

Some things are too whole
to be spoken.

A look.
A breath that almost turned into speech.
The way your shoulder moved
  before the apology
  that never arrived.

We speak so much
  just to hide
  what we actually feel.

But the unsaid -
 it sits quietly
 in the space behind your teeth,
 in the silence between names.

It doesn’t fade.
It settles.

I remember the pause
 more than the sentence.
The moment before
 you almost said
    “don’t go.”

But didn’t.

And that
  has echoed longer
    than any goodbye.

What we don’t say
 doesn’t disappear.
It becomes
 the resonance
    beneath everything we do.

It knocked
softly
a breath at the door
but I
bolted the windows
and swallowed the key.

It came wearing warmth,
but I mistook it
for fire,
for teeth,
for grief with a new face.

So I fled,
faster than joy
could reach out its hand
afraid it might feel
like home.

CUFF LINK

Death steps out
of the mirror.

It has the colour
of your eyes and

your most perfect
smile.

And slowly as you
watch

adjusting a recalcitrant
bow tie

it becomes you
until it all but

resembles you
you the heap on the floor

bow tie still
slightly askew.

And you step into the mirror
and it closes behind you.

"How Cocteau-ish?"
you think.

Death takes your place
pretends its really you.

Your wife's screams
a flock of birds

startling to the skies
the first rain falls.

A cuff link rolls under the bed
that won't be found

until a month later
silver the one that says

father.

love is not a vacuum
love reaches in

a hand to wipe the sweat from your face
a word of encouragement

a poem on your lips
a listening ear

a gift of laughter
to laugh at yourself.