Was it what you knew
That drew you away?
Was it that we weren’t aware?
Our arc of togetherness
Is burdened by all said, or unsaid;
We forgot how to be.

Silence and secrets –
Sly balms and weapons –
Too long to aid, too short to awaken
Make us opposing figures
In a stalemate game.

Inevitably time flow will
End mutual deafness.
Or innate pulsation of piled decades.
Do you, too, blame me?
We are love stuck in a maze, seeking the line
Of rich and of poor patience.



A Barricade

 Now there is silence; convincing, dense.

A roadblock of dread: anxieties on what’s to come fueled by wrongs of times past. Next to the lumpy heap on sunless asphalt rests actuality and its plain might flees our naked eyes.

A playback of thoughts doesn’t still. Time drips like wax on flame.

Adrift in wakeful ages, I can’t locate the exit from the state of stand-by. Again and again, providence mulls if past our barricade awaits a second chance.


An ode to a friend

Take me to the sea, an abiding witness:
Its steady shore my home
Its brawny hum a purge
Every one glimmer relaxing across all time.

Take me to the sea, the bearer of my secrets:
Where ebb and flow, eternal and equal –
Granting and taking without prejudice –
Pursue one another, our lives a playground.

Take me to the sea, it knows what to do:
Accepting crumbled wishes and daydreams.
Its majestic patience a reminder
Of surrender to the Gods.

Take me to the sea and I will sail again:
As grays and blues meld
And waves ground the soul, hushing the ache.
Seize my hand, now, and take me to the sea.


The Core

A skeleton
Of us
Shapes of charcoal –
Dead or alive?

Wrecked intercourse
Solitude, and

If we could share
The magnitude
Of desire
In our orbits.

The jazzy bench
For those
Who won’t know.

Without continuum
What will survive?



The river
carries all there is:
we meet, and we part
each time like the first.

As riptides
wrench the roots
we hang on to the clutter
looking to tape back who we were.

Flow rushes
ahead; patterns
zoom in and out from
the inside of cracked eyes.

Against streams
we wade. To lull and
forget – if for moments –
is providence of a human heart.

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