August 25, 2013


She’s home, I said
And then whispered, but it doesn't matter, she won’t hear me
I could yell, I could scream, what good would it do? 
Why is that, you ask?
It’s in the knowing, I say
What is that?  What does that mean, the knowing? 
She hears what she wants to hear, she knows; only she knows, it’s in the knowing

The shadows in her room know
The creak in the floorboard knows
The breeze on the dusty window sill, it knows
The roots growing in the cellar, they know
The damp earth, the shiny leaf
They all know
I wrestle with the truth
I wrestle with the lie
She won’t tell a living soul
She won’t tell, unless I cry
Tight lips
Closed fists
I cry
Eyes shut, downcast where silence is met
Shout down the mountains, the valleys, the rivers and streams, the rocks and trees
Shout down the hills, the plateaus
The desert, the seas
Go to bed.

I’ll tell you in a dream, she said.

Borrowed Time

Speak to me
The clock chimes one
Speak to me
The clock chimes two
Speak to me
The clock chimes three

Sounds of gnashing is heard, metal upon metal, the ancient clock groans; age heightens the ache in old bones; saying it’s time to go.

Down to the street
An intersection
Where all hearts meet

A place where goodbyes are stuck to anger, a reverie of lost hellos tear at the heart; where feet stray, where strangers go, found in humble beginnings; then hands slip aside, allowing darkness to wear the cloak, shuddering, drawing it close. 

Early morning, the clock strikes one
On window’s ledge, she stands
Soon, the clock strikes two

Closing eyes to sleep, she hears the tick of the clock’s reverberating beat.  This time, this time, is it mine; to go, to go from here to nowhere, from here to nowhere on three?

The moon rises over the lake
Her soul
Her soul to take

August 9, 2013

A Leaf

Photograph by Donna Donato 

Beside a lonely leaf
White on black
Tears are shed
Severed grief

What is done is done
Do I think of you?
This leaf, taken from a tree
Or do I think of me?

Cutting ties
A leaf with purpose
From a tree so fine
It was time

Where does the wind blow, without a trace
Light upon dark, evoking conflicts, secrets
Buried in shades of grays and blacks
A sacrifice, drained of color, of life
Life, a leaf, with or without strife
By itself on the rim of the world
A single leaf across my vision
I think of you, I think of me
Blanched, set free