If I’m honest with myself,/ words just fail to capture/ it. Every time they’re/ never quite able to/ encapsulate

a four-letter word/ like love/ and hate// they become lodged under the tongue/ neatly spaced/ waiting// …to share

Anxiety squeezed my lungs with/ sharp talons, punching its fists/ on my heart through my chest.// Anxiety

There’s a fire burning in our backyard, fueled/ by kerosene, dried leaves, & bark from the/ birch tree, a tree

The next-door neighbor, a former classmate,/ Slams his front door in a huff and a puff,/ Stepping out into the world

I don’t even know/ what burnt umber looks like/ or why you’d burn an umber/ to make it darker,/ and my eyes

The stars don’t care/ if I am right or not;/ they don’t judge or criticize./ The bird that flies/ through the skies/ and

The springtide wakes up not only in dreams./ The snowdrops blooming in the moony garths./ One listens

People have let me down/ The moon rises in the sky/ I bite my nail beds/ And hug my knees/ The milky dawn

Poets are/ Hitchhikers/ Waiting and// Waiting to/ Ride on the/ Next thought train// To unknown/ Places deep

I like to see the shine of it/ Just when it is there on the ring/ With all the others/ Even though someone else/ Gave

Outside the abbey window/ facing south,/ near the furrowed path/ I've walked,/ the magnolia tree grows/ timeless

A song visits my dream/ A song with muted lips/ I hear its lyrics with my heart// A song with wings and no

an off-frost-white balloon/ on the first day above 80,/ whether bereft of helium/ and enslaved to the wind,/ or

Hourglass, the whirlpools on water./ Sun glitter/ for clover moths and yews. Their rising helices/ embrace a

The red ink/ in my red pen/ flows off/ into space./ I climb on its back/ dashing myself into/ the obscure/ wondering

The day ages backwards./ A sunless morning, then light/ Does its slow reveal/ Behind black marionettes/ Of

Dawn coats the birches in orange paint/ each morning now,/ while patches of dead grass/ next to old

Wild parrot/ escaping his home hill/ leaving flocks behind/ looking for his name./ Wild parrot/ poison green

Hawks have two wings/ on a dismal spring day./ In the evening,/ after winds stop begging/ at the door, a young