Lines and verse
How daring of us to love when we have so much to lose.
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This Gift is Not Mine
She is wearing the hat you bought her. Floppy black, what might seem regal, distinguished or a few grades lower than the crown of an angel who sings hymns to the heavens and it is as if I am singing hymns to you without
Parting in Winter
There must be more to this story than a weathered wooden table on a brick patio. More than two glasses of foaming Irish cider and a bagel that neither of us has consumed…
She slips an aged brooch into my palm and smiles./No words, but I can read the meaning in the crackles of skin/around her brown lips saying, take this,/this artifact of my touch, this proof of love,/string it in your archives like a light sheet of fabric./Touch it…
3 poems, The Grief Diaries
When death comes
to drain the last vapor of oxygen
from a body, it does not ask for an address
to send the flowers…