Late

the party over-
blackened wicks smolder in the
citronella pots

constellations-
old friends and
old stories

Burden

down by the river
releasing slights collected
after all these years

on my back-
the weight of countless
grains of sand

Birth

my journal entry-
today I start another
lap around the sun

willow branches-
a crack appears
in the robin’s egg

Shade

late sun at our backs
walking the path before us-
intertwined shadows

passing time-
in the corners
collecting shadows

Puddles

a rippling sky
cast in all directions by
a child’s rubber boots

parting clouds-
blue jays bathe
in tiny ponds

Dead

the village emptied
bodies lay unburied with
no one left to mourn

tumbleweeds-
sun scoured bones
picked clean

Roses

out with the mistress-
his rose garden wilting in
the seething sun

my delicate rose-
thorns buried
in my skin

Sand

an aging lighthouse
stands sand blasted and buried
by the walking dunes

frigid winds-
the predawn
desert frost

Ashes

high flying embers
remnants of a prior life
slowly turn to ash

distant thunder-
lightning strikes
a joshua tree

Alone

in a basement bar
the windows dirty with time
drinking my coffee

sheets of rain-
a community
of strangers