Pass the pastry

Somebody was celebrating mornings
but I forgave them.
I opted for pastry over hopefulness
and mentally traced the map
from where I walked in youth
to where I found my footing now
and without dropping too many crumbs,
laughed with my mouth full.
Somebody was venerating the past
but I forgave them.


A terrible quiet

The Empty begs audience
even on a lush green morning.
I cannot hold it at bay long.
I cannot remember my dreams when awake.

I hold my heart too closely now
to admit sentiment better tucked away
carefully between line breaks.

The illusion of a watcher
to protect me has been lost
in a place where the sky is so big,
it swallows both fear and hope.

What’s on your wall?

She wanted to tell him
her new disappointments
but their conversations read like lyrics
for a punk band,
elevating her uncomfortably.

Trying to find a poem about railroads
somehow led to the revelation
that he wrote a book once
that’s been forgotten.

She spent ten minutes online shopping
for a plaid watchband
and hasn’t worn a watch in six years.

They turn their feed over and over,
waiting for the post that will settle them.

Taken in waves

It’s quite simple;
when you pry greyed sleep
away from the vibrant landscape
at the ends of your fingers,
what becomes the focus
is not Who or Why
or even When
but just sensation,
taken deep inside
like a belonging
without question.

When morning brings a touch of danger
like sugar cereal
or sleepy knife-throwing,
I keep my daydreams primed and ready,
pressed between bosom and glass.