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Pane
I sit-time drips
as careless as the slow
leak from the
kitchen faucet.
My pain-on-pane
centered in a front window
like a broken
sewing needle near thread
feels
pointless-yet-holds-space.
Can they hear me
waiting? My
breath amplified
against the glass.
Can they feel my
eyes longing to see
them step upon the
walkway?
The moments pass
as another promise splinters.
Sun creeps without
apology down the hillside.
Forgotten has its
thorny grip tight around
my name.
Until Now
Until now it was
fine to gaze out a window,
make the best of
shallow water and not
challenge life
above the knee.
As we hunger for
afterglow, we step as sure-
footed as a walk
on thin ice can guarantee.
The naked, the
raw, the boldly
ungraceful also
reach for the new and
make the best of a
willingness to step
bold then fall
through.
Yes, small fish in
a drying lake can
hear the
belly-laugh of the sun.
Life on the
edge-cut with dull
scissors-until
now, was so fun.
(First published
in Mud in Magic, Moonrise Press)
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