Was it a day?
Or had the years collapsed in a fleeting decay?

The nights grew heavy, crushed my chest,
My eyes wept secrets I never confessed.

Tears turned bitter, cold, and dry,
Hate and regret took their place in my eyes.

"Mumma..."—I whispered, lost in the night,
She laughed it away, My hands reached out, but no one was there,
Just shadows and silence and empty air.

Was it the night? Or was it me?
Building walls too dark to see?

Trapped inside, no way to tell,
Was this the day I truly fell?

He drives into the desert in a Toronado,
Dust in his eyes from the open window,
Sun on the burned skin and black mascara
That augments his vivid gaze.
Black orbs that stare at the burning sand,
His mouth is defiant and morose,
He turns off the path into the sage and saguaro.
The car is like a black beetle on a carpet of tan.
He lifts a shovel from the trunk, looking crazed.
Digs a shallow grave in the sand,
He rips a talisman from his neck
And declares he is looking for something
Unclear and he slurs a chant.
“Something is coming”, he seems to say.
He buries the necklace and drives away.
Will he come back for it or leave it
for the spirits of the desert?
No, he will come for it every day
Bury it again and again
Until the spell wears down,
The perfumed season is done,
Or perhaps the spring floods
Wash it all away.

At the Sky Ride on St. Thomas
We sweltered in the heat
Waiting for the cable cars to come
Strangers seeking tourist treats

Up the way, a pirate staggered from the depths,
Dressed and drinking imaginary ***,
Wobbling a bit, the player indiscernible on first glance
From one Jack Sparrow.

I couldn't help but wonder to what depths,
Jack Sparrow's character has invaded Johnny Depp.