Poetry has a way of hiding
Itself in a dried up riverbed.
Inspiration of nothingness.
Words at tongue’s tip,
Can’t quite grasp…
And then all of a sudden,
Words flow like the mighty Amazon
During the wettest season,
Tumbling over each other
In their rush to be writ upon the page.
Feast or famine,
All or nothing.

wherever I go. They're high
as a mountain covered in
snow. They're deep as a valley
and swim around my head. They're

under my covers and rotate my
bed. They squeeze me tight like
a Charley horse, pushing me back
with all their g-force. I bump into them

stone cold sober, raking them up
like leaves in October. They're thick as
a French accent. And hasn't been one
I can circumvent!

I want to hold your hand in silence.
Name ethereal suns that exist in the distance.
I wish I could bleed into your existence.
Quietly stay stowed away in your ethereal presence,
I would gladly marry into your darkness.
While everyone else is looking for your weakness
I will always read you as flawless.
As you try to hide the cracks beneath your armor.
Maybe they dream of vivid garden parties held in green meadows.
But I will gladly revolve around and under your colorful shadow.

No more shall I seek to linger on the silken loop of stars,
Nor will I play at dice in the moonlit, burning woods.
"Let it remain unsung"—the cuckoo’s sweet and lilting refrain;
Lend me but a fleeting shadow to soothe my weary soul.

At dawn’s tender crack, I will wander to the edge of the fading night,
Where the first light spills gently through its shimmering seam.
And though the day may falter, and twilight weep its soft return,
Grant me but a shade beneath the mole of your verdant grove.

This moment now under a starry night
Bathed in the soft glow of firelight
Slightly cool air brings the scent of flowers
Time stands still and minutes are as hours
Nature comes to life in praise of your name
As I lift my eyes to profess the same

Can you untie
the knots—
when nothing’s broken?

Everything lingers,
still,
held in deep slumber.

And then it arrives:
the rains of July,
shattering silence,
demanding reckoning.

Has it come to this?
Seas unraveling,
moons collapsing,
the sun rising
to an empty bed.

Has it drifted so far?
Rivers swallowed by dust,
mountains falling to ash,
no one left
to witness
the purple skies.

A solitary world,
silent,
its shadows long,
waiting
to be forgotten.