torn fabric lets the light in old curtains hang on the windows slightly askew she stands there the second girl, waiting with her back to the wall leaning into the moment one hand braced behind light becomes distraction playing along the wall with abandon the second girl shifts in place watches the shadows join in…

I turned just far enough in my chair to see through the window to the trees outside as the storm pounded the concrete with surprising fury lightning cut the sky into white ribbons thunder echoed between the buildings I thought not moving about where I stored the candles should the power go out again what…

I wandered the unused path heavy and overgrown looking for small opportunities to see sunlight overhead something to guide me forward but each step betrayed me drawing blood warning root and stone to hold me still night apologized for truth only opportunity the past undressed bare, empty unwritten by the moment do you remember? the…

rising with the breath to sit in between that one and the next a conversation born in the swell under the wide evening sky nothing to hold wind through my fingers the day rests on the horizon slipping beneath the rolling sea your words land like the crashing waves on jagged rock worn by years…

still has the price tag on the back neon orange sticker warning me that for a $1.99 broken wounded lines will scatter themselves in black ink visible in the sunlight scrawled over torn pages until the crisp cover is worn down a hundred days of verse upturned by the rage of existence separate me from…

I wake before the sun again listen to the passing train wind its way into the city through the trees and sleeping streets to greet the downtown blue-violet sky not ready yet to welcome the soft pale pink tendrils of morning into its grasp pull the blankets around me against the chill a few moments…

I threw down the dusty bag untied the cord and pulled the fabric wide golden face of the sun, white orchids and blue morphos greeted me, a whisper of what remains unsaid old photographs, half-finished stories, unsent letters fill the darker folded corners and I, I am left still looking to see if I have…