alone
alone i come
alone i pass
alone i walk this road
like i always have.

You are the corners of my lips
You are the grip on my wrists
You are the habit I won't kick.

The grey lines etch
Her eyes, her mouth and her hips.
A blade makes contact through the fine, stone mist.
Stagnant,
Sanding down the beating end of a hammer,
Trapped shapes appear,
Revealing new ways to approach
Her eyes, her mouth and her hips.

I think the sun has grown jealous
Of my friendship with the moon
I prefer dusk to dawn
And midnight instead of noon

I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread

Press me against you
Like flowers in a book

My parents used to fish
On Castle Creek
With canvas vests and wicker creels.
They always caught their limit.
And we had fresh trout for breakfast.
Last year
I drove my father
Up Castle Creek,
Alone and with knees too old
For clambering on wet rocks.
We stopped and talked
To a fisherman
With nylon gear and neoprene boots.
My father told him where the fish were.
Then I drove him home,
Down castle creek,
For the last time.