Architectonic

Trompe L’Oeil, 
when ash and ember revisit;
sparks drifting unquenched,
like uneasiness,
sifting down
below.

They Were Just Dreams

Repose, settle in and down
under your black widow totem
that defies, like a sundial
to prove its worth with its shadow.

Detritus

Paddle in the calm,
while the sun hails and halos
from afar, gifting
its near-eternal charms.

Impostor

Wade into warmth — 
the waters of pretense,
until immersed, 
until the water enters you.

Bending The White Lines

I travel, often
with the hope that the white lines 
would one day realign
and finally point the way home.

Abigail

I can be spellbound
and simultaneously
free,

Battle Me

Leave us here
on our canvas of fiction;
inside low bending walls
that keep us upright,
if at all.

Cello

“Look at all the lonely people.”
she translated
with the poetry of her hands,
as the music flowed through
the apertures of my heart,
as though…

Last Call At Bath St.

Often, we are simply, this.

Polaroids, Bled

She’d drawn me to her
with her sylphlike confessions;
lilted, with the sweet slur
of a flute’s tongued perfection.