on your humble
hands
i feel years
of toil,
still trembling from
from demands
of men who don’t know
sand from
soil.
shadow play
this city in a
raindrop
and my eyes crawl
all over the
window
trying to find a
dry spot,
thinking i should
see you
soon.
the warning lurked
hidden and
coiled
beneath a smirk
that peeled
enamel
from the very
teeth
that bit
air.
shedding that first
layer
allowed the rest to
crumble
out,
never again to be
sealed
in
where contents could
no longer
breathe.
his mind’s a
coffee
shop
with its
murmurs..
spills..
and lack of quiet
space,
amidst head’s busiest
times of
day.
mothered by
my tears
i’ll embrace
tenderness
and
bear conflict
in all its
masks
and rattling
fists,
until disturbed by
none of
it.
with wings like
shadows
he veils wild
eyes
from smoke, which coats
his feathers
like threats that plague him
through the
night.
like a rose between
pursed lips,
you sweeten the
breath
and seal my
mouth,
like the weed between
time’s teeth
you grind me up,
and spit
me out.
like the maple
tapped of
sweet,
i stand like any
sapless
tree
in a
foggy clearing
no bird
sees.
i watched you
swim at
dusk
shadows shrouding
ripples made,
your form faded
beneath,
to reappear as
fireflies
sprinkled over
violet
lake.
hands in the garden 
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