You've once recounted in memory
with that young boy vigor
of a hobby collection of that sort.

I find it fascinating how you could
maintain our feigned interest in naivety.
You kept us so long in silence.

You've kept all these things in
jars and cabinets packed in
tight spaces.

And as little and as inconsequential
that butterfly memory that you kept
in a bright jar up in your attic;

let that ripple strengthen into a wave
but i will never be what you willed
and kept for so long. A butterfly

clipped and dipped in formalin
for your tiny framed collection,
that pride-start, if you even had one.

-19FEB15

It kept her inside the workshop,
the only noise, a sewing machine
quietly purring like an old moody cat.
Spools of threads closed into fists,
Fingers curling back into their tiny shells.

She places a piece of cloth on the table,
The open seams sticking out
like the yellow stains of a neck fold.
An old worn out shirt with little holes
filled with imaginary garden trolls.
The smell of moth ***** seeping out.
Curling her lips like a slug with a pinch of salt,
A hesitant hand moves deliberately
as if feeling the roughness of a warty toad.
To keep one is to improvise, to mend spaces
tightly with thread and needle on skin.

She will say to herself: “I will keep him close”
Her little lover’s shirt on her small bruised frame.
chipped, she will drink liquor bitter.
She will drink it long and drink it deep.

November 2014

How does the mountain thank the breeze?
How does the ocean sway,
A changed direction switched to thee
A wave who could not stay

Two mere creatures of the dust,
And one, by far, the better
Deep below the world's thick crust
With dreams matched to the letter

The icy breeze may hold the truth
Which one, unwisely, held
The other, so,  had thought, 'forsooth!'
The one, too far, compelled

A ring, a wrap, of roses neat
All thorns and vines and taint
Around, around, to near defeat
One never was a saint

And so one leaves with fear and hate
After layers of mistake
Some will think it comes too late
The other one might break

But this was not to spite from one
And not in fault of thee
Nor in rashness, careless done
Mayhap one day you'll see

How in this truth, so taught by act
The withering may start
The found are far more lost, in fact
Without a place in heart

And so one says goodbye at last
To her friend, the other
Though space between their lives is vast
They'll meet in yet another

A voice whispers words into my veins
A voice instructs me, strut this way
And that way too, don’t stop...I’ll never shoo.
By the time I’ve made it to the train
My heart begins to
                                                            T­****
                                                            ­          
                                                      ­                   Thump

                                                          ­                           Thump

                                                          ­                                                      Without a moment to choke
                                                           ­                                                          I hop on the station
                                                         ­                                                  Headed west, with barely a breath
                                                          ­                                A thought in this head that steals any concentration

Sleep eludes me, you penetrate me
Enrich me with the echoes of your mind
Bare with me, let us intertwine
                                                            A path paved over by the ways of the world
                                                            Still hot and sticky, I mold it with my toes
                                                             Imprinted with my wishes and my hopes
No traces of intervention
No substance of prevention



Sitting atop the stool
Painted by the artist
Within his palm
Lies his instrument
Prepared to implement
Painting shadows of time and space
Strokes back and forth
Lines united by grace
                                                       ­                                         A picture varnished
                                                   ­                                           A piece of time caught
                                                      ­                                         As quick as created, it
                                                              ­

                                                               ­                                                   dis..
        ­                                                                 ­                                               si..
             ­                                                                 ­                                                 pa.
                                                             ­                                                                 ­           .tes


                                                      ­Fading with all its glory