Modern Life – Napowrimo Day 28

High-hat hustlers and
eyes that lend tenderness to the lonely.
Where we live in vast avenues.

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Serendipitous- Napowrimo Day 27

Tattooed on my thigh.
The name of a stranger,
fantastic in this dimension,
yet it feels crowded and confused.

Mine – Napowrimo Day 25

In whispered image,
the darkness of trees
falls on sleeping water.
Secrets live.

Sundays Then and Now – Napowrimo Day 21

Sunday was our day.
Cooking our favourite meals,
talking about life,
and dancing
in the living room to
Bossa nova or Édith Piaf.

The front door opened to our garden
where you played ball with our dogs,
while our cat lounged in the sun.

I loved you against night and summer,
against the light and the silent
expression of your lips.
I wanted my words to find you,
I wanted to build words into doors,
windows, and symbols.

Sundays now …
I see the invincible smoke of the dead,
the pain that splintered my love.

Nothing is Logical – Napowrimo Day 20

The smoke of cigars
is less serious than your eyes,
where time suffers on the flesh.
My day stumbles
along with a daring angel.
My abundance is logical.

Napowrimo Day 19

Splendid Silence

On this spring night,
my path’s been overheard in silence.
It’s the first seed of light
germinating in remoteness.

A Short Musket – Napowrimo Day 18

When opened doors end,
injured birds die
by light.
Inventors of fury
talk to the edge of disappearance.

Gone – Napowrimo Day 16

We were
only a premonition
before the kingdom,
your presence a signal,
a greeting.
Our bodies falling apart like
paper boats on the sea.

Day 14 – Napowrimo

Interrupted:
They’ve interrupted my time,
Interrupted my touch of the moss on its immovable waters.
I’ve felt their eyes surround my words,
yet I still feel free to fly with the birds.
Private signs tied in hidden languages
spoken in an adverse chamber.

The Silence – Napowrimo Day 13

I’m lost in the dryness of my mouth
in the barbarian hands
of distant riverbanks,
where the second person
fulfills me with lost promises
for those who’ve died before reaching
the possibility of being.

Words move doors,
windows and
symbols of disaffection
into a night that goes on
to grant us with the dawn.