Dew can be found
Upon my cheek
During the waking sun.

Through the captive lens
I see your smile

In windows

That allow gusts
Of our humanity to pour
Over our skin.

There is dew upon
Your cheek as well.

Another cold morning
Next to the paint-chipped bus stop sign.
A weeping heart can never board
When a bus has never reached the spot.
Still, there is faith in the music of
Approaching tires on the pavement,
But for now, there is only a light breeze.

Catch me bleeding
Dramatic tongues

Out in the silent world of
Watchful trees that mutter
Sugar-dipped names.

I will stay at a safe distance
Since leaves strike and cut
When eyes are closed.

Is my name sweetened by
The voice from the summer bark?

There is only one way to tell
And maybe the need lacks
Urgency that lies in the open.

While secrets are kept,
I'll still bleed.

Taste melancholy fever dreams.

Listen for the spoken word

That tore your youth.

How is the tea treating you?

Smoke me out if you want to.
There are plenty of other hills
That will welcome a sparrow
Within snug arms—
Bringing me weightless, ready
To share the sun.

I can hear your bonfire lungs,

Your prickled sensibilities
Wreak havoc on watered stone.

There is a lurching pond
The size of a dime
In my tell-all hands.

I could wait for iceberg brimstone

But I'd be left to falter
Against a drop through a needle eye.

I do not fear the heavens
Catching me lacking—
There is nothing in the bag
To hide. I carry all of me.

There is however a record shoved
Between the bookends
Of birth and death.

Let that pain or joy speak
On my behalf.
I am too tired to fight.