Gentleman Hawk

What a magnificent flight,

she thought,

watching him wheel

ahead of the gathering storm.

Does he tremble inside too,

she wondered,

with the possibility of not making it across in time?

Could he carry my words,

she hoped,

singing along with his tune

over mountains far away?

What long days,

she thought,

gone too soon

leaving her clutching just a feather.


through a cracked window


gingerly, greedily

lapping up outside dust

as it gathers on the lips

a svelte view

if you sit still

long enough,

you can see the horizon

fall away

leaving you the conductor

of a new proscenium


It was a desert

(not my first)

and how it tasted of stretched skin!

sort of briny and red…

I wonder at sleep

and if it affects the gift of mirage;

how hopes or terrors enter unbidden

when the body fights for space.

Will I have to fill myself

forever and ever?

It was a moment

when sun flickered behind a cloud

and the stoplight changed,

pushing me forward.