Most of a lifetime

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Photo credit: livingwisdom.kabbalah.com

Photo credit: livingwisdom.kabbalah.com

The power of a second

can hold



an accident,

a look,

an idea.

A second is

an opportunity

to prolong

the brief hiccup

of time by

simply remembering

the feeling.

A second is a finger,

a limb,

your heartbeat,

the last blade

of grass a cow chews.

It took one second

to find you

after waiting

most of a lifetime.

But a second was 

too long

for you to notice

me there,

so you turned away.



What You Think

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Photo credit: weheartit.com

Photo credit: weheartit.com

Love is in remembering,

you think.

It is about

the way that he looked

at you when he

left you standing

on the edge

of the doorway

as your weight shifted

back and forth

on your tip toes.

As though you were

trying to make yourself

seem taller in his presence.

You thought that meant

he lifted you.

But really

he naturally made you

feel smaller.

You kept reaching

for his gaze to last longer.

You remember his eyes

because you made yourself

trust them.

You can’t admit

that your own eyes

failed you.

Or that he failed you.

Because you are

still waiting.






The Next Phase


The Next Phase

The Idea of Feeling

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Photo credit: www.pen.org

Photo credit: http://www.pen.org

The sky is lighting up

and I am not

sitting with you,

watching with you,

and watching you


I am not feeling

the graze

of your arm, your gaze,

the energy of the night,

the idea of the exploding

colors and the sulfur smell

and screaming children

and obnoxious teenagers 

yelling “KABOOM!”

But now I close my eyes

and feel the cool sand

wrapped around our toes

as we kick our sandals

to the side of the rocks

and we smile and

a breeze comes.

To Be New


(RIP Robin Williams, and prayers and thoughts to those who struggle with depression and thoughts of suicide.)
Don’t touch me,
You spread yourself
down my stairs
like a rug
and draw a shadow
of the window
on the hardwood
floor of my hallway.
Stop that.
Go home.
Keep your body
to yourself.
I don’t want to be
seen by you.
I don’t want to feel
your cratered
on my feet.
Don’t look at me
like that.
You don’t belong here
and you know
I don’t either.
What does it feel like
to be new?
To be full?
I only know
what it feels like
to be half.
To be three quarters.
But I envy you,
for being able
to be encased in
darkness and for it
to effect no one.
I will never be
like you.
My next phase
is one that will
become another
crater, and
will cast
another light.
And for this
I am truly sorry.


Days, Weeks, Months


Photo credit: laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

Photo credit: laudatortemporisacti.blogspot.com

The silence of waiting

sits deep inside me

on a bottom shelf,

dust covered

and not well

put together.

The screws are

stripped and nothing

is lined up.

Anything that is

on the shelf is in danger

of collapsing and

breaking its sense

of worth.

But if something stays

just long enough

for someone to pick

it up,

then the rest

will align.


Dark, Locked, and Empty

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Photo credit: freelanceflaneur.blogspot.com

Photo credit: freelanceflaneur.blogspot.com

I want to

hear your typewriter

clack and see

the streams of light

out your door

spill out like

a river

and to watch you

search for

papers and sort

through books

and piles

and laugh

at your remarks

and stories and


But your office

door is shut

and my note is

still taped by

the doorknob.

Dark, locked,

and empty–

it doesn’t look

like any place

you’ve ever touched.

But I remember

who I used to be

and how I used to

feel and how you

have touched my

life and how

I was that room.

I was that room

and you will

come back.



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