glad you’ve held up
dry and
well,
pleased you’re a flower
elsewhere,
we dreamed escapes
together,
though never found
the time,
blaming less than perfect
weather.
rhyme
tea taints lip of
paper cup,
mist like incense
ribbons drift
from thoughts-
the yawn that can’t
be stopped,
in blue shade corner
coffee shop.
sitting in on
fictions
not meant for escapist
ears like
mine,
grown deaf to words
that dress the
world
in anything but
feathers.
swallowing
tunes,
tracing lyrics along
shrinking
screen,
sliding into
bubble
water-
whispering
obscene.
no, i will not miss it,
though i’ll crave replacements,
do you still study
stars
through the roof of
your rustproof
civic?
or are you racing home
to meet curfew?
are his eyes still
blue?
said i’d never
miss it
but i
do.
a kiss behind
a veil of
mist,
you never
noticed
from too safe
a distance,
but now we’re inside
where its clear
and dry
and still can’t find
each other’s
eyes.
kitchen chair still
holds your
shape,
though you’ve gone
missing for
all days..
turn grey now
sun won’t
reach
you
as much as i’d
love to.
stale paint
cracks in sunlight,
settling into
today
in a way that negates
time
reminding me that
i’m not
here
and you’re not real
though you
appear.
a pumpkin
smile,
gent tilts his
head,
as if his turn
in game,
on chipped tooth bench,
lunch clasped
in palm,
cloaked in
trees,
shaded by
leaves,
knows not where
he’s from
or how he’s come
to be..
so infant-eyed
and free.
bonfire of dead
letters
unearthed and
torched–
sending specters to
their slumber,
we
breathless
blowing embers,
may dawn reach us
where we
shiver,
eyes shaded out
by smoke.
hands in the garden 
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