on this very day
there is a wet weather drabness  
on this very day
we do see clouds of rain's display
the air infused in dampness
that feels like a sodden dankness
on this very day

ever we dream
of peace coming to fruition
ever we dream
wouldst truly be a tranquil stream
the loud sounding ammunition
retreating from war's position
ever we dream

Somewhere between the wave’s rise  
and its folding back into itself,   
I felt the salt change weight in my hands.

The water no longer blurred the edges —  threads began to show through the foam, knots glinting like shells in the shallows.

I was still wet with the reading,  
but already leaning toward the loom,   ready to watch the weaving happen.



.

you said
it would work out.

it didn’t.

i hate
that i knew
i’d be right.

i tried to drink
my feelings away
until i nearly drowned
but their grief,
patient as a vulture,
kept waiting for me
even at the gates
of the afterlife.

i don't think about you anymore.
except when i become
my own lowest point.
you cross my mind then.
briefly,
grazing the edges
of my reality,
impersonating a friend.

but i don't need you anymore.
so, every time you knock,
trying to sell,
wearing your shiny labels
like a badge,
i'll shut the door in your face
and let the night take you back
to the abyss you crawled out from,
veiled in shame.

I dream my poem.
I poem my dream.