The smokescreen — Photo credit: Author

What words could I use

To weigh your pull on me?

The steady comfort of

Asynchronous breaths

Accidentally in unison?

Four eyes tied,

By invisible wire, which

Never repel their gaze

Or comprehension.

What could I say

Of the rhythm your syncope grants?

I’ve written a thousand meters

To each…




Five minutes by me.

I filled a jar in Carolina

Of slurping sea sand

And captured sunlight,

The most ravishing things

I could see before me.

I saved it, not in particular,

For someone who could nod

And understand when I spoke

And, especially, did not speak.

The mixture of trapped life,

Of pine…