watching rhythmic
sway
of an empty
day
on the tip of
branch,
tapping ‘gainst
window
pane-
wishing to
play.
shadow play
not ready to
thaw
but dear sun’s
beating
down
upon shell
and i’m sweating
now
through my cold
casing.
each memory’s
a crack
into something much
deeper,
trapped frozen
in ether
holds a heart
of knots
the mind can’t
unkink–
despite what its
clever self
thinks.
i’m the worst
pretender..
defender of
truth–
in light of my own
mirror
you watch each word
whispered,
and each time
i kiss her
to remind myself
i’m living
in
the now.
are you summer?
or just the
flash
of something
warmer?
skin still craves its
momentary
burn,
as if
the exposed one
never learns.
can’t watch
thunder,
won’t hear
lightning strike,
but feel them rage
in tandem
throughout
breathless night.
he brews
storms-
consumed by
the cup
then reads the
leaves
before chewing
them up.
soggy trail..
along a
dried up stream,
steers us deeper
into foggy
green
where the undead
used to
tread.
a rust moon taints
the stars..
shooting across
our eyes,
flakes cascade
from sky,
settling upon
tongues-
too acrid for
some.
i feel you
closer,
when we sing
together,
yet,
too often
we hum the same
lonely tune
in different
rooms.
hands in the garden 
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