i sit
at the counter
lifting a cup to my mouth
and welcoming warm, golden tea inside
it feels like liquid sunshine
as it slides
down
down
down
i sit
at the counter
turning page after page
licking my thumb and index fingers
page
after page
after page
after page
aft-
stop.
it was no mystery that this one was a tale of tragedy
i sit
at the counter
the tragedy has arrived.
a lover
cradles the newly deceased loved
he weeps and he screams
he breaks
and i close the book

maybe it is selfish
but
i sit
at the counter
i ignore the one
who has just lost his love
and instead
i hold my head in my hands
i feel myself
momentarily projected into his place
and i feel
for a moment
that it is me
cradling you
                                                         dead
                                                            ­                                        in my arms

                                                           ­                                     for a moment
                                                          ­                                                  i break

for a moment
i feel as if i am living in a world
where you no longer exist

I want happiness to creep up on me
and I want to be able
to accept it—
to let it stay with me
I want happiness to find its way into my heart
So that sunlight
may shine out from between my ribs
So that marigolds and daffodils
may bloom from my palms
So that stars
may be reflected in my eyes
no matter the time of day
I want happiness
to burn me from the inside out
violently—
yet more tender than anything I have ever known  
It will consume me
And I will let it
I will embrace it
I will see beauty in the most ordinary of places
I will find the highest joy in the mundane
And I will be so utterly, incredibly full of love
I feel the warmth
growing as I speak these words
Oh, this feeling
hold me tight
and do not let go

Begone!
You are to be vanquished!
Can't you see my mighty, pristine blade?
Oh, how it gleams and shines
To you,
my doubts,
I speak
You have plagued me for far too long
I will stand it no more
Begone!

Celestial and spritely flower head
A cloud of white in a wheel
A spread of stars on a sunny bed
Enchanting - a vision ethereal
Blooming afar and clustering nigh
What bud, what blossom, what ****
Blowing away with just a sigh
In a breath, in the wind that breathes.
While the rose is crowned and daisies loved
How often are you brushed away
But magic lies in your snowy fluff
As wishes fly night and day
You greet the morning, a languid dawn
As the skies turn pink and bright
Then gather close with the moon's rising song
That plays with the coming of night
A fairy's flower you seem to me
A joy - a charm - a delight
Flying away over meadows and leas
In the wind with your wings of white.

how easy  
           it must be  
                       to be  
             nothing.  

        to drift  
               like smoke—  
         unheld,  
                      unnamed,  
        unmade,  
    ­           uncalled.  

        no voice  
                     to strain,  
       no weight  
            to carry,  
                     no name  
         to answer to,  
                     no history  
    to betray,  
                  no body  
         to mourn  
                            in the morning.  

               the wind  
        does not cry  
                         when it leaves  
         the room.  

            the shadow  
    does not grieve  
                        its blur.  

                 even dust  
       learns  
                       to settle.  

       even echoes  
                  give up  
         without needing  
                               farewell.  

       i envy  
                    the pebble—  

                  tossed  
                           ­ into the dark,  
          resting  
                  without memory,  
                              without meaning,  
                     without fear  
                                     of being seen.  

             forgotten,  
                            yet  
              whol­e.  


     there is  
                        a kind of mercy  
             in the void—  

                         a hush  
                  where burden  
                                cannot bloom,  

            a place  
                    where shame  
                                 has no shape,  

         no mirrors  
                          to reflect,  
      no mouths  
                   to mock,  
              no eyes  
                          to measure  
         the quiet  
                     out of me,  

     no hands  
                  to hold,  
           then release,  
                        then forget.  


just  
              the still.  
         just  
                the silence  
                          that never  
                                 has  
                                    to end.  


        i would fold  
               into that hush,  
                           slip  
              into the unseen,  
                       unspool  
             this thread  
                              of self,  

             let it vanish  
                              between  
               the floorboards—  

                              like spilled  
                       water,  
           like breath,  
                            like light  
                    when the door  
                                is closed.  


            would i  
                      finally  
           feel  
                         peace?  


      or would i  
                 only  
                        miss  
               the ache—  


              the ache  
                        that meant  
                               i was  
                       here,  

                    that someone  
                  might’ve known  
                                 i was  
                          real  
                          ­  enough  
                        to hurt.  


                       but still—  


          how light  
                        it must feel  
            to be  
                    nothing  
                            at­ all.