Bric-à-Brac Babel
Beneath a tattered coat, it haunts the street, A mongrel tongue with mischief in its eyes. It lifts what other languages repeat, Then cobbles words and swears it’s neat…
englishA collection of 35 posts
On A Winter Mourning
Beneath the willow's frozen, brittle shade, I mourn the garden buried deep in frost. The tender shoots that once began to fade, Now sleep beneath the ice, forever…
The Hands Know the Hour
In the morning I weigh my hours, measuring minutes I might not meet, I decide to mark the calendar with ink instead of with doubt— As though tomorrow is a…
Call It Living
We rise as stars they hoped would never burn, glow as sparks they tried to smother in ash. Let them build walls to keep us out, draw lines that define…
Our Fragile Threads
The house sighs heavy now— its walls no longer know how to hold us. Our photographs sit like ghosts on the mantel, cold witnesses to what we were before the edges of our lives frayed, before we forgot how to reach for each other.…