Cusp of Midnight

This year slides onto
The next

Tectonic plates
Shifting at a glacial pace

Before you know it
Passes you by

Cold air in your veins
A whisper of sleep

The sky is alive

Unkissed

And happy as she is

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The Crescent

The only lips that could be kissed
Without fear
A hand held when there were bags
To be carried
Too early in the day for
Lunch or even breakfast
But goodbye was consumed
Thoroughly
A stretch of railway
I walked alone

Retrace/Repair

A losing game

Losing miserably

This sense of self

Dense and failing

Flag burning in the wind

Strings at my wrists

Pulled tight

A fight I cannot win

But I am trying for you

Even if you’d rather

See me curse

And fall from my perch

Eyes turned skyward

The Earth must repair

Her own wounds

 

Usurper

A tangle of sheets,
You would never
Let me sleep,
My side was yours,
Dreams passing
Through fingertips
And half-formed words.

I loved you then,
Spilling tobacco on my bed,
Dampening the paper
With your tongue,
I leaned in for a kiss,
And whispered against
Your lips:
“Breathe your smoke
As truth.”

North/West

You didn’t look at the moon

Or the stars on a cloudless night,

How could you not

Stoop to one knee for the prose

Of the moon

And her bonnet of stars?

They scrambled

Arranged themselves neatly

Just for you,

For your eyes

To tilt and offer them

Repose,

You offered them nothing.

You would even try.

 

Impasse

Maybe I’m not what you envisioned
Maybe I’m soft in places
You thought would be hard
My shoulders may be weak
But like Sisyphus
I will try
My eyes may strain
But they can see through
This envisioned life
My heart is in the right place
But no one else showed
A different time zone
And you are no longer
A vision
No longer envisioning
Our life together
Maybe I’m just too soft
As you utter “stalemate.”

Some Days (or Tabula Rasa)

Some days
I want to smooth it all out,

Ground myself into untouched flour
or virgin snow,
Stretch my body across a canvas
until I am formless,
A rightly scorned mess

Some days
I am smooth and untouched,
Untouchable,
Cold as a distant star
and shatterproof

But some days
I am too rough for time,
Do not bend into its grooves
Or surpass the old rhyme.

Some days
I am more night
Than day,
More likely to say
What I don’t mean
But felt was right
At the time

And some days
There is light on my
Windowsill,
Light with my pillow
Propped up,
Right there
Touching my cheek

But some days
Some days