Late
the party over-
blackened wicks smolder in the
citronella pots
–
constellations-
old friends and
old stories
the party over-
blackened wicks smolder in the
citronella pots
–
constellations-
old friends and
old stories
down by the river
releasing slights collected
after all these years
–
on my back-
the weight of countless
grains of sand
my journal entry-
today I start another
lap around the sun
–
willow branches-
a crack appears
in the robin’s egg
late sun at our backs
walking the path before us-
intertwined shadows
–
passing time-
in the corners
collecting shadows
a rippling sky
cast in all directions by
a child’s rubber boots
–
parting clouds-
blue jays bathe
in tiny ponds
the village emptied
bodies lay unburied with
no one left to mourn
–
tumbleweeds-
sun scoured bones
picked clean
out with the mistress-
his rose garden wilting in
the seething sun
–
my delicate rose-
thorns buried
in my skin
an aging lighthouse
stands sand blasted and buried
by the walking dunes
–
frigid winds-
the predawn
desert frost
high flying embers
remnants of a prior life
slowly turn to ash
–
distant thunder-
lightning strikes
a joshua tree
in a basement bar
the windows dirty with time
drinking my coffee
–
sheets of rain-
a community
of strangers