poem.


an apology


memories might linger,
bitter in the corners of
a mouth.
graven, calloused.
a wind seeming to
cool in the aging evening,
though no mercury would
cringe to its icy breath.

at this hour, silver spheres
multiply shadows. sense
them hiding beneath the birches.
fear seems an adage in such occasions.

walk. it will be morning soon.

so cold that bonfire becomes
candleflame. like a nightmare.
we called them dragons,
when we were young. they covered
the sky before a downpour.
supernovae, mild winters, antimatter.

writing by moonlight before sunrise,
snug within my quilt. rusted, i spoke.
i am lost.

one might succumb to darkness.
suddenly awaken to
a morning by a frozen pond.
the ripples outlasted the splash.



untitled

I- to recall

a cracked dawn.
silent, disjointed, trembling,
they flutter helplessly down
to light upon autumn limbs.

delineated in laboratory notebooks
our steps are unnatural, precise.
dated paper scriptures guiding us,
each consumed by our own universe.

we might remember when our journeys
flowed uncorked like ancient wine,
tumbling suddenly over conversations.
wispy tendrils would pack the silences.

---

II- spacetime

we spoke for hours,
though the topics now escape me.
the voices were unkempt. discourse hung,
a bitter requiem, sung between trees.

we folded the vastness into cranes,
paper boxes, boats, and berets.
as if the danger was an arrow thrown through
a blackhole, we never even saw it coming.

rotten fruit hung from the forest vines.
the stench was everywhere, ripe, trapping.
but the insatiable children devoured it,
as if it had bloomed just that morning.

---

III- ode to a snowfall

she covered us lightly with winter dust,
wandering monks in need of shelter.
we drew together in our defense of
uncivilized, vengeful regret.

recalling idolatry, we left for the grove.
the icy, baptismal excursion.
charred husks of men bent under the weight.
what remained for us now?

i spotted a rabbit, but the hawks were
already circling above.
it was a silent, modest reply.
the innocents were the first to fall.



carved eyes watch the evening settle down-
darkness lights upon the village,
touching first the steeples
then their patrons as they shuffle silently
home.

churchbells celebrate night's coming
deafening all ears to the
gunblasts in back alleys and taverns,
that one could say, "i heard nothing."
and be truthful.

now the few passersby move quickly,
daring not the shadowed sidestreet
or unfamiliar avenue.
clicks of heels on pavement echo against
cathedral mortar.
one might think he was being followed.

meanwhile
inside the safe homes
masses huddle around
hallowed idols for solace,
for past martyrs are second
only to those present,
and there are yet no volunteers.

one might think
they heard someone shuffle by
in the arches' shadows,
though it was nothing more
than the flutter of dove wings
or the whistle of wind through
palm branches in the lonely evening.



adolescent dreamscape

speak and
you will kill it.

I.
it snows like wildfire
in the mountains. she
spins blizzard stories
to a young traveler
expecting him to read the snowfall,
but he says the snow only
blinds him.

an ancient man reaches for
his spectacles. twenty
years of tobacco decorate
the room and he is
crying to see again,
though he memorized the text
before the room smelled
of his pipe.

he always smoked a cigarette
after love. they watched
the red glow illuminate
spirals of smoke for what
seemed like hours before
losing themselves in
slumber again.

---

the room is silent
save the cry of wind outside.

II.
a whisper could
shatter the silence.
she can feel the heavy
air upon her eardrums- her
head throbs with the
memory of the night
before and she wants to
break everything with
her scream but she can't
breathe why can't she
breathe the air is too
thick with the stench of
emptiness. a sharp breath,
and the shards of air slice
her away to nothing. it is
over.

---

but you never see yourself die
in dreams?

III.
now the darkness speaks to
him alone. he needs nothing,
wanting more, but it is all the
same now as he lies back
and lets the sky open
him. prophecies flow with
memories of cynicism and
regret but even the most violent
gushes will soon begin to
trickle, before even the first hint
of sunrise.

---

not a word spoken,
not a gaze exchanged.

she stirs in the bed next
to him. he sighs and closes
his eyes. there are, after all,
three more hours until
morning.



castles

sealed
with the click of eyelids
shutting clamping locking
down so hard it hurts
to breathe anymore.
shut trapdoor to lost troves
closed by locks without keys
and the picks are snapping-
stop pushing so hard
some locks can't be opened.

eyelashes are woven,
clenched in anger, fear, hatred-
it's all the same now-
to keep it out
walls between worlds
so high you can't peer over
but still you stand on tiptoe

i knew you'd come
curious and naked to my door,
empty and innocent to tell me of
things i can't see through windows.
but locks become rusted shut
as concrete fortress
after years of rain.
it's been centuries.

these boundaries are soundproof
but you cry like the child
who doesn't believe that father
stopped.
breathing.
faith that scream can become
sledgehammer to these walls.
i always loved you for your faith-
hated my faith in you and
your knowing
that all walls can crumble but
i need to know that
some castles can last eternities.

let me know nothing else
knowledge permanent as stone
stronghold to faith
to you.
i built these walls
for a reason.



she knew, she

forever true was she,
though in it came
nothing as before, began
to confuse me in love,
first pure and innocent.
i had everything certain
together when love began
yet ended, yet
began love, when
together, certain, everything had.
i, innocent and
pure, first love in me
confused to begin, before as
nothing came in it,
though she was true forever.