a mouse and a man (4-27-18)

how quickly our
best intentions

di s a p  p   e   a     r

pluviophile (4-25-18)

I don't know how many times
I have written about rain

about the cool, quiet hush
the silence that fills

the way the world becomes
a Monet painting

and the distant rumble of thunder
a lullabye

I haven't gotten tired
of writing about rain

I don't suppose I will.

stain (4-24-18)

you are to me like
a wine
stain

on lips
chapped and dry
the red hue of a night
that held promise

the taste gone
the memories hazy

the regret thick.

after winter (4-24-18)

the sun is
rebirth, plants springing forth
out of long-forgotten flower beds
the hope of a hazy summer
of long days and warm nights

to me,
you are the sun.

coming back after a long trip (4-23-18)

the door cracks open like a bone
snapping
the floorboards creak
startled and unhappy to
be used again

I brush the cobwebs away and
try to find my room

up the winding staircase
if I can make it there
I will be home

if only I could remember
which room was mine

the door at the end of the hall
catches my eye
I don't know what it is but I
know it is mine

but when I slip through that
familiar doorway

it is a linen closet