in between (once again)
on the ghost-white page we connect in a space far outside of time. and through these scribbled lines plucked from the margins...
somewhere up ahead
with hands thrust deep into pockets the hours slip silently past one into next without reckoning on this cold september morning. lost...
eighty feet per second
maybe von helmholtz got it wrong when he measured the speed of nerve conductivity as eighty feet per second, at once diminishing...
harvest moon
hot summer afternoons have long transformed all buds into bloom. from my shuttered room i peek out on a world of too...
ink dark moon (a reprieve)
beneath an ink dark moon she waited for me but i was lost in the depths of sleep, dreaming of a beach...
waiting to exhale
between one heartbeat and the next so much which hangs together by the fragilest of threads can reach its sudden end —...
just as i wake
between one heartbeat and the next so much which hangs together by the fragilest of threads can reach its sudden end —...
daffodils
in silence i wait by the field-stone gate for spring-time blossoms to bloom. and over my head a pale crescent moon mirrors...