A cup of coffee in my hand,
Fresh aromas rising with it's steam
In this cool crisp morning air,
As I sit and read,

Your poetry inspires and moves me
As I catch a glimpse of your soul's echo.
We remain strangers separated  by land
Yet together we find community in words,
In prose,
In the release of voices that reside inside of each of us.

This is my morning routine,
I greet the day with your rhythms and rhymes,
I sip and savour them,
Along with my coffee,
And my heart knows peace.

I am ready for this day.

For a little while.

Breathe.
Breathe wordless
Air.

On the floor of the river styx, frogs burrowing peer over muck duvets to watch me press like a violet between the cookbook pages of the water and the land. I went overboard-

I am addicted to the darkness between worlds.

Somewhere above me, I see the moon. She doesn’t try to warn me, she doesn’t bother reminding me that I can’t breathe. Heavy currents like snakes blur her face into fractured crystal tears that wash me over with sweet exasperation.

Sedated by the salt toward the other side, where the ferryman flips my coin and hums a tune without words about all rivers rushing toward the sea.

He doesn’t ask me why I chose this route, just grins a toothless grin
And winks
And tosses my coin into the water
without

So much

As a wish.