hermit

I'll hide in the chinks
between old stones. My beard
a strange white moss flowing.
The roots of my teeth have
grown soft in my mouth
but my toes have wiggled
deep, curling into crevices.
This shade is so kind.
I feel the sun radiating
like blood from the southern
exposure and it is enough
unhappiness on the longest days




.

solitude

I wait with the silence dimming,
like light fading through rain
filled trees. the atmosphere palpable
but not unpleasant, a soft hand on a shoulder.
Only when I close my eyes
do I notice the slackening distinction. The ebb
of day open to the comfort of night.
I am alone with the movement
of my breath moving beyond hearing




.

untitled

my hands find you like a half-empty cup;
it is the dilemma of morality of consumption
versus the wisdom of rationing




.

scattered

The hard buds of scattered tulips
grow in clumps among this derelict temple
made from the stolen marble
of your limbs, the cold softness
of stone unfolds into your
divine skin stained by the shadow
of my touch and the soot
of burned out prayers. A goddess
gone missing from my
misshapen desire





.