“is it you?”
they pause to ask..
and I can’t shake
the question,
but don’t respond the
way they’d
like..
just tellin’
it true,
“what’s it to you?”
“what side do you need to show?”
“which me do you really want to know?”
shadow play
“there’s still love
in death”-
you claimed upon
return from
realm of all who know
what’s gained
by loss..
far from land of
this reeling
spirit
who knows only
its cost.
you let go of
my hand..
to hold my face
close to
yours–
and stared into
each pore,
to know what
hid inside–
then examined
no more.
descending, head
spinning,
cave floor’s always
dropping,
in pure
dark..
soul’s resisting its call
to glance
up.
i drown my hands in
childhood streams-
to feel water cleanse
the guilt and
regret,
then splash it on
my face,
to remind me
i’m not
dead.
tilt the compass,
run towards
us..
arms
motioning-
inviting those lost
into their
clasp
to defend
all..
from decays
of past.
love rolled over me
with smoky
breath
upon shaken
sea,
now what’s left
to believe..
of fable so
foggy
its details can’t be
retrieved?
missed my own
phone call–
watching fog lights
on dry wall,
while nursing a
wet cough,
a shout in the
stairwell
midst a spirited
farewell–
i just want to
shut off.
locked doors and
keychains,
stone wings and
left brains,
no umbrella in
mind’s rain,
a sewer grate..
overflowing,
as heart
tells..
without knowing.
farewells are
awkward
but so is such
a silence,
let’s just fill space
with truth
and fade down
our own
paths.
hands in the garden 
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