summer sun incandescent,
blackberries ripening on the vine-
pearly white and green
a few deepening to purple-black,
growing tumescent
even as they wait

I slide the ripened berries
from the vine to my mouth
licking juice droplets
staining my fingertips

you pick the green ones
wincing at the sourness
your mouth puckered tightly
at their unripe taste

And still, I find myself amazed
that even for summer
your choice is not change.


it’s early
the sky barely greying
into Monday’s dawn

I watch you sleeping
dark lashes splayed on faded circles
painted beneath your eyes
by the dreams you won’t speak of
that you wrestle every night


without pale moonlight
shadows absorb all landmarks
I am lost at sea

how animals sleep

We fucked last night.
Silently, unlike animals,
only noises
of skin sliding along skin,
body parts slapping rhythmically,
breaths erratically echoing
in the otherwise quiet night.

Afterwards, we turned away
in our nest of a bed-
facing outwards, alone
gazing off into dark distances
in opposing directions
that only each of us could see-

remembering when our limbs
crooked like the necks of swans
entwined, as we envisioned forever
facing inward as we slipped into sleep.

when stars break

I saw a broken star tonight,
shards of light
scattering through emptiness
before fading into non-existence.

I thought of making a wish,
but that’s only for shooting stars;
even wishes cannot hope
to mend a broken heart.

ignoring limits

an asymptote
your lips hovering
drawing closer by infinitesimal increments
until I feel their warmth just before
they finally press against mine.

Missing my connection

circling in midair
waiting for clearance to land
trapped between sky and ground
without purchase
on either
while others above and below
continue on
to finish their journey

like the man
sentenced to having no country
always at sea
never touching the edges
of something
you want to call your own

we reach out each time
passing by, stretching
to just brush fingertips
never quite enough
to clasp hands,
to grab on,
to stay.

facets of regret

watching the barn door shut

upon the horses’ tails,
wishing for water
once the well has run dry

chocolate saved too long
until bitter on the tongue,
the acrid scent of milk
several days past its due

saying goodbye in the rain
and walking away,
only to spend your days
looking back


campfire smoke
wafts across my face –
gazing pensively into the fire
wishing for the one
who taught me to burn

how we communicate

This must be how it feels
to the tree alone
in the forest,
only the breeze to stroke
her leafy green hair,

to have limbs
rattle and shake,
as she bends or breaks
in the midst of the storm,
broken bits piled in heaps
or scattered
across the lawn,

to fall
and have no one
acknowledge the sound.