a snow owl
with ice
eyes,
a treetop ‘neath
ash skies,
ol’ smoke stacks
inhaling
the sharp
air..
impaling.
shadow play
photos with
smudges..
of ghosts holding
grudges–
and scribbled on
behind
is a date
in bold black
that we can’t
take back.
softened thoughts
in genteel
mind,
a smoker’s cough,
but more
refined,
no cage
bars..
to
hide behind–
in light of day,
can’t help but shine.
was that wave
aimed at
me..
or someone
behind?
held the door out
of pity
or
just to look
kind?
offered help for
the thank
you
or just to give
blind?
i’d be grateful, were i
in the right state
of mind.
fresh cut
smell
on slipping
day,
holding
on..
only to watch
it fade,
deep gut
swell,
the night grows
bare
little left to do
but stare.
craving inner
silence..
but dreams mostly
of violence,
wakes up to own
scratches..
clutching a book
of matches,
yet rises to
face..
the
quietness,
a lioness,
she is.
absence grips
on tightly,
thoughts of your
warmth
remind
me..
how
to feel-
with empty
space
beside
me..
but never
inside.
too many
angels
for sinner to
handle,
one hand cups
a candle,
the other gets
burned–
in healing’s the lesson
learned.
the waiting
room-
a loaded
queue,
all doom and
gloom,
called to a
room,
rushed out a
door..
without the cure that
i’d hoped
for.
untethered the
summers..
laid shaded
in shame,
flattened by rainclouds
we could never
tame,
unshackled the
remnants
of steel round
our ankles–
thankful for a break
in the grey.
hands in the garden 
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