Thursday, May 26, 2022


Our protest arranges an assignation with death.

In open space, the agora, we can't catch our breath.

So much to and fro, loss and gain, our craft heaves

On the cusp of sinking, swallowed by soaked leaves.

Eyes shine forged beams above high heather.

Hand in hand, like burrs fixed, we're one feather

Which buoys up to embrace bright Suns

And swiftly pass what pulse outruns.    

Thursday, May 19, 2022


Stars cling to her eyes.

Sun's warmth, like love's breath,

upon my neck...

So many zones apart, 

temporal dilation 

makes beds of eyes

and skin.

Burn cares away 

in thick groves where

Parliaments take flight. 

The day flags.

Art sits bitter 

in dusk's lap.

Thursday, May 12, 2022