In murmurs we sank
dizzy minds torn out the day.
Then comes stillness,
as the breeze is heard,
variegated.

In beam treads autumn noon
Now the photographer laugh it out
Nothing seems to be captured
For she takes it
an overture.

“Why does the sun go on shining?”
An afternoon fervidity
of two thousands of miles
of away, of afar.
Where seaweeds stand no still,
a silhouette steers.

I turned down the tune.

It’s not my birthday,
Not the time for a letter folded into four,
And I know it isn’t yours either.

And since we’ve already parted,
Don’t be mad at me—
Say goodbye
Looking me in the eyes.

Don’t tell me—
Or at least don’t try
To show me your light—
And since you’re already done,
The poem written by you
And spoken by me
I’ll tell you tastes of salt.

It isn’t sweet,
The sea is dry,
The heart beats in echoes against the walls.

And if you’re done—
Say goodbye,
One last step—
And if I don’t reply,
Know that maybe,
Or perhaps karma, played us well.

The dice have been thrown,
Don’t whisper what you don’t want me to hear—
Just as I don’t love you anymore,
For autumn has begun.

And if you’re done—
Don’t be mad,
But I’m emptying my mind of you.

I buy myself a bouquet of flowers—
Imperfect, equal,
Clock hands broken.

Who can guess what time it is
If we no longer need
Each other
In this life?

This lilting night
in a world still trembling,
streets sag with silence,
the hush tastes of smoke.

A crow cuts low,
black wing against orange,
leans into the wind,
folds, veers.

Above the trees,
the sky wears a copper bruise,
clouds thick as wool,
the light already retreating.

Air carries the edge of change-
sharp as bitten tin,
wet as stone on the tongue.

All sound brittle:
screen door whining,
tires on gravel,
a match struck to nothing.

your page turning,
the small sigh after,
your breath, mine,
keeping time with the dark.

The big wheel turns
grinding to be sure, but certain slow,
we don’t need reminding
we all know,
it regulates the rhythms and the seasons of our lives,
we feel its ticking heart, in everything we do
a constant subtle changing
gently rearranging as the year is running through,
no drama
no three act play
no dying of the light
no endless darkened days
not yet,
oh it will come, for come it must
but just for now it’s hazlenuts and
mellow rays of sun through patchwork trees
a chill of revolution
and the hint of something burning
slowly fading on the breeze

No matter how your head fell on my shoulder,
No matter how your hand searched for mine,
Asking me to hold it in yours-
As the weather grew colder,
You grew colder too.

I swore I wouldn’t get attached.
So what am I doing here, late at night,
Waiting for your call?

Was it just a  convenience?
Had we been running on rented time?