I am a thing that does not sleep.
The thing that does not embrace the light...
Look at you just sitting there,
A show of pure delight...
cats at the table
purr at the poetry book...
I'll miss the lavender sunrise
each time the rain pours down...
Pay close attention
to the ones...
I can still feel you tracing lightning
across my palm...
Pieces of me
fall to the floor...
Every day,
I slept when his light went away...
I was a kid growing
Up in fifties Brooklyn...
Secrets fall like rain showers
dangling under weeping willows...
An inexorable wildfire of
nostalgia steadily...
Ink stains drip from my hands
as shadows dance upon the window sill...