Day 25
I claim I know who I am and how, what to write down, but nighttime, wet snow falling presses me …
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Day 24
a clean sheet of paper hides every sin, each fumble and misspelling, so you think God spoke to me clean …
Day 23
I wonder if the beams from streetlights singe your fine needles, exhaust you, if only true dark can heal you
Day 22
rushing her work, damp snow plunges through night air, knowing full well her fate is to dissolve and river-away come …
Day 21
when you tell of youth, and risk, and being bold, you do not reveal the cloister in your heart — …
Day 20
is it a god or a black cat that crosses my path in these woods? am I cursed, sainted, lost, …
Day 19
that dark corner may recall years past as it sighs – drowsy, in a haze – that I was here …
Day 18
gray tree branches hover over dried-damp grass – last year’s growth – chimes ting on the steady breeze remind us …
Poems from in between 