Kite string lightening sun leading the way the winds have come by the cracked window with freshly washed hair I see the yard, mother, clearing the clothes line leafy faces, on well water out over the fields and flower beds spring rain on the harvest dripping down planet dusk small talk after droplet burials in the flowing stream
Category: Poem
Dark eye
I dreamt we walked the paddy fields
Amidst the shells of yellow cars
Silver inscriptions from their authors
Glinting but dulling, with the dipping sun
I break from my travel companions
Pushing forward, caring not to look back
The rainwater has washed the path away
I skip and leap, through I know
My shoes are gone
Down by the wooden grain store
Under its cold wooden rafters, I felt
Trapped on a pillar, the breeze pushing
The only thing holding me down
Your shaded eyes
Ice cream Sunday
Cool breeze
for breakfast
cold, cold, ice cream
soft chill
inch by inch, climbs
the afternoon sun
Ash is the purest white
Cast your hand above the flame
you’ll feel it fade
the warmth seeps away, your fingers cold
the cinders ebb, as the bonfire cools
the night is slow to melt, yet you will it to stay
where no one sees, it is permitted
the forest branches complete their journey
and you may mourn them too
you will remember, how the flame cuts right through
Softly folded
A meteor shower, frozen
asleep on the empty road
I gauge the feeling on my arm, how cold
the pulse of the night wind
give me a homeland
this ancient crooked tree
no one replaces you
give me a homeland
my lips are chilled
dreaming
Isolation
They do not hear me, my voice is hoarse
I look at the mirrors and no one looks back
In the void I am empty, formless
In the silence, you lose your strength,
Your bones will break, your mind burns away
Slipping away, melting in an empty self
I have nothing left to say
Recurring dreams
Still water, I reached down
to reach the tree tops
I remember this is a dream
that’s on repeat
A lesson I’m yet to learn
I follow my dog, into the woods
Cobweb whiskers
The cat walks past, cobwebs in her whiskers
clearing up the cardboard boxes
I thumb through picture books and socks
I listen close and hear laughter,
from a picture of my sister, who I take after
I fold it away, reach past a button-box,
I remember, every outfit, our stilted talks
so little was said, my sister’s sick bed
her hands as cold as mine
Afternoon’s off
my aunt on the creaking swing
calls to her lost cat
all the broken pottery
swept together
sun soaking my skin
so much of time
toss, toss
In the image
I write poetry for pictures
They’ll say it all,
Play it subtle & soft
Keep it ambigious, keep it safe
They’ll hide, what your afraid of saying
