Water’s Edge

at first, we dragged our feet
at the bottom of the sea
when water still spoke in serrated whispers
that only we could hear —
but soon we lost our fortunate foothold
& were bound to face
the smothering tides.

Refuge

most of her flaws were tucked away
at the bottom of her kitchen drawer —
held together by a dainty ribbon
& labeled “keepsakes”

they felt right at home
amidst her life’s colorful clutter.

The Gift of Mor(t)ality

for the longest time I rode
side by side with mor(t)ality
on washed-out, winding roads, searching
for that one shred of humility
that led me back to mySelf

he was a hero of sorts —
with his relaxed posture &
those pearly-white teeth, easily slicing
through even the harshest bits of reality
as if they were nothing

& with just his lopsided smile
he always reminded me what it should feel like
to be human in an inhumane world.

Close(d)

it did not end
in the beginning
when all those little things
were still just little Things
& few noticed
their low-dosed beauty.

now that magnitude
outweighs the gravity of delusion
Little things
are all that matters
in the beginning
of the end
of the beginning.

Not A Christmas Poem

your smile stays hidden
behind a thousand snakes;
scales glistening in the spotlight
you force yourSelf to stand in —
so tall and manly (as you put it)

I still remember the color of your soul
& how warm it felt to the touch
when it was yet within my reach
not all that long ago

your eyes are filled with hope
when my fingers brush the last shred of dignity
off your starched collar 
& I realize
this is not a christmas poem.

Once Were Warriors

you used to cover the walls
with pictures of times long past &
between the wooden frames
there was no breathing space
for the present & the future —
but in your eyes
neither the stone grey of perseverance
nor the creeping chill of stale memories
lingered.

For Miles

I have been traveling for weeks now
on this (dreaded) path you called a symphony
back
when I still heard the rustle of my mother’s clothes
& tried to suck the warmth out of her shadow
in passing

I will (never) get used to being
the one who waves at you
in the rearview mirror, determined
not to look back —
I guess
life is funny that way.

Phoenix

are you stronger on your own
dragging yourself forward
with broken fingers

& does your voice not matter
while your words
fail to impress?

time flies
and so will you.