In quiet hours, Sundays unfold,
Lying in bed, our stories retold.
Side by side, hands softly entwined,
Whispers of moments, tenderly aligned.
Simple love, a treasure, gentle and bold.

Stuck on blackened spikes
and under stormy seas.
“Let’s go for a hike,”
my wife said to me.

Her sliver of sunlight
breaks through my fog,
a sparkling invite
to go for a little jog.

On a bed of autumn leaves
and crisp wisps of dew
the trees us receive
while I from black withdrew.

he's here

and once again i fall slowly
light as a feather
gravitating to the river
to be washed away
by the peaceful flow

A blue jay perches
Watches the autumn leaves fall--
And stays there alone

☼

i guess ive always had a thing for fire
standing too close -
letting the smoke suffocate me,
the smell latch onto me.
i know i might burn,
but it’s where i want to be -

ignited by all of this desire inside of me

Anxiety wraps
itself around me,

like a coat that
doesn’t fit me

like a lover that
doesn’t love me

like a fire that
doesn’t warm me

You might be surprised by what people read
at the kitchen table
in the evening
with dinner to the side

As for where to die?  
At the kitchen table
like my neighbor Betty—

slumped over her newspaper
arms above her white and lonely head.