the little things

just before daybreak
moonlight through the windowpane 

each vertebrae casts stark shadows
along the soft curve of your spine

you’ve turned away in your sleep


A spent dandelion-
One wisp still clinging
to the bald-headed stalk.
I blow again, and a third time…
before dropping it as I walk away.

always my little boy

Ancient black sharpie scribbles
disrupt the shine
of my old oak table.
I smile,
remembering you then.


eyes closed against me in sleep
morning sunlight through your lashes
softly sketching shadows
picket fences across the high peaks
of your cheekbones

goldenrod deeply bowing
along graveled edges
I see yellowed summer grasses
draw shadow lines across the road
behind me as I drive away

ignoring limits

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


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


like the monarch
winging her way home
to alight on a milkweed,
my wayward thoughts
somehow return to you

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