top of page


Now is thicker than before.

Reinforced by the comings

of wisdom, slow like a sluice

of ice through a downspout

at Springtime. The Good

to make amends for a rotten

brother, or other extant relation,

keen on immolating your peace

at six AM. You, at your table

for two, staring down jets

of percolating steam, the holy aroma

of morning beans wrapped tight

like a shawl. This, and all prior,

will putter on by—caterpillars on passing

leaves. Your regrets and celebrations

equally stirred by the resolute breeze

of time stopping

for no one.

It won’t hurt, to know

one has lived and will live harder still before dying.

To know that mistakes evolve

to escape our ever-sharpening eyes.

To know that we strengthen

out of necessity, increasingly

equipped for the lows and highs

of one hundred tulip revivals

in late April.


Recent Posts

See All



bottom of page