The shivering of sound


took my hand

gentle the lash of sorrow

hung so long by peg

from back of door

becoming cloak

before long, unable to discern color

this monochrome grief bird

pecking holes in resolve

walk a mile in anyone’s shoes

feel their ache dye the price

the shivering of sound

bricks cast in tears

yellow is today

the door stands open

what of it?

outside first oleander fall

petals mixed with grass

studying full sky

swollen in accumulation

as we smile unbidden

collapsing our pinned ideals

inside our skirts

as we hike them higher

to avoid water mark


img_3797-2Solitude does not take so very long

before undoing our need for sound

or the beating on tin roof

of rain and words and meaning too

as she lay beneath persistent thrum

seeing no language necessary or brave enough

to furnish her with sufficient description

how does the rain tell tin or some other fabric

the lingua of a heart?

or perhaps a thin line of wire

connecting and disconnecting thought

in fragile measure

how does it relate? That old scarred ache

persisting beyond the tongue?

into a realm where words cannot

fathom the depths of hurt enough


there are times when silence and that

open mouth pressed against knuckle

diving into foam, in brief deafening wail

of nature lashing herself with hues of red

as if it rained color instead of remorse

she tried to take your hand though wet

lost grip and slipped before gained

swallowed up against sliding words

we no more

have left

they are ushered to quiet places within

the fragility of our hang

Ariel do you mark this weathered vane?

before it slips willingly beyond us

severing source

in shadowed formation

sea birds break their sleep

with first glimpse of