our height penciled
on wall,
just scuffs where
we fell..
while
carefree,
and if i don’t
blink
i see the past
so clearly
but not
me.
spiritual evolution
watching rhythmic
sway
of an empty
day
on the tip of
branch,
tapping ‘gainst
window
pane-
wishing to
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.
cranking open
window
to let
the air out,
can nearly smell
you in the
dew,
and almost see your
smile
behind
the curtains
calling to
be let
in.
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.
hands in the garden 
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