Knowing

Seldom have I felt this low,

my voice, still stuck inside.

A soul, left alone,

reveals its need

to suffer,

rejoice;

be.

Old for New

Let’s trade our foreign cargo:

our death, oblique and strange,

tagged for redemption,

but stirred to know

the story,

re-lived,

new.

Gift

Satisfaction guaranteed

to broken hearts that need

all that sorrow brings;

a song to sing,

promising

death to

death.

Presence

Let’s walk on distant shorelines,

ragged, rough and romping;

nuanced as the night

for we should not

assume that

we’re not

there.

Breakfast

I ask you, “do you love me?”

You tell me that you do.

I ask you twice more.

You answer me.

My answer?

Broiling

fish.