how light stretches


the city lights below
the almost stars
hanging high over the bridge
across the bay

we rode the trolley
across town
thigh to thigh
on the hard wooden seats

searching for constellations
you slid a bit closer
your eyes clouding
when I kissed your hair

blueshift tells me
every day the
Andromeda galaxy
is moving towards us

but you pulled the cord
at the next stop
the light stretching, redshift,
as you walked away

Haiku of sorts 

Faint stars in the sky

Scattered like freckles on skin 

I only see you 

a thousand little cuts

how long is the wave
just reaching land
starting buried deep
far beyond the break

they say some anger has a long fuse-
welling and building
biding time until
it pounds fists
against the pilings
crashes furiously
onto the sand

I’ve watched the little wavelettes
lapping against the beaches
slowly nibbling away
at self
and at shore.


I’m wrapped
in your dirty tshirt
on the old porch swing

how is it that
the tang of old sweat
overrides the new
the just now soft scent of grass
and of the ground after the rain

i think of you
and the moon
the last sliver bravely shining

before it slips behind
the tallest oak tree
standing there
100 years or more

in a few more hours
when the sun paints the dew
strung across spiders’ webs
between shorn blades

I’ll wash clean
my green-stained feet
and your shirt
crumpled on the floor

Petrichor (/ˈpɛtrkɔər/) is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek πέτρα petra, meaning “stone”, and ἰχώρ īchōr, the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology. from Wikipedia

on frost and dissipating

like Steven’s man in the snow
it takes a long time in the cold,
to know the sharp crisp edges of isolation
the echoing emptiness of alone

your red lips moving
formed obsolete letters
words of language lost,
I heard only sentences sublime

your hands pulled me
in from the cold–breath warm
enough to melt my frost

I slipped out the back door,
walking away
into the frostbitten night

quantum theory of sorts

The mud from the deep puddle
splattered on my pants
clear up to the knee
when your foot slipped
off the wet cement curb
this morning at 3am

You were dashing
between there and there
a driven look
encircling the Y-shaped scar
between your eyes

missing any context
one would assume –
you were trapped
between two alternate universes
the destination unknown
until you’ve made your choice

one regret

sheets of rain
throbbing against the window

I’m remembering …
the umbrella you gave me
was in the backseat
when you drove away

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