where orange danced with red

the sea streamed from your hair

in my dream

as you rose from the ocean,

planting yourself on the beach

as if nothing in the entire

history of the world

had ever been planted

by cross-pollination

or wind

or a gardener’s steady hands;

your shaking head

shook pearly droplets

from your hair; I watched

them fall, each a kingdom

crushing and reforming,

both calm and panicky

until the droplets struck

the sand and relaxed

in the potential retirement

amongst children’s castles;

the waves crept up,

covering your prints

as they darkened sand

and formed barriers

near shells and driftwood

like aged sailors’ faces;

suddenly I wished I’d

taken all those classes

to know whether chiaroscuro

might be achieved among

the glancing rays of the sun

in the beyond where

orange danced with red

and only black felt abandoned

somewhere in the past.

balloon animals

releasing worries

like balloon animals

at a county fair in lazy August heat

I close my eyes against

a dark ceiling,

feeling the closeness

of a bed under blackness,

counting that when

I knock in the night

you will have opened

the door come morning.


the periwinkle blue sky

stood bashful, aloof,

shuffling its feet

while its hands became

metronomes drawn

across miles of wool;

all the while tree shadows

like fingers sporting stubble

fly fish across the frozen

yard of hushed snow,

tensed, waiting

for the sky to extend

a hand in welcome.


Dear Present Me,

You’ll be okay.


Past Me.

P.S. (I understand)


Dear Future Me,

Please forgive and welcome me soon.


Present Me

P.S. (Past Me says you will be stronger because of us)


Dear Present Me,

I am waiting, arms open.


Future Me.

P.S. (I owe you guys everything)