Inhale, Exhale, Snow


Soft bed of snow in a dark forest, two bodies breathe.

we feel the cold burden, the dead weight,
it presses for answers as our chests fight to rise, rise, rise …
gratefully, audibly. When it’s over, snow settles
on our eyelids with the lightest touch. We, in ancient silence,

lay breathless.

clock and I are shadows (insomnia)

clock takes a turn with me about the room,
we are shadows, and lights that flicker and dance from passing cars
drive us slowly mad with desire –

clock and I waltz about the room
tracking light movements
with precision of hunters until, suddenly, each is swallowed
whole by us in the darkness –

clock and I laugh, spinning, the world
outside growing older, each star following the same path set,
a quick flicker before our dark tongues close in with a smirk.

fox in Clifton Park

a fox in Clifton Park
crossed a road,
slipped among shadows.

some shadows are happy to be stretched
down long roads of abandonment.
then again some girls are easily bare
long legs thin and tough, scrambling side to side.

absurd, a fox here in a park of burnt out grass
trees choked
shadows stretched too thin
but hey, that’s the city.

around every corner, alley, boarded home, rats find a nibble.
girls slowly pull on their tights.

a fox makes a deal and gets away.