The beast begins

not in conscious mind…the intangible cut
that niggling welt of red

nor in the walking world…yet stalks darkly
past peripheral sanity loosed on tender meandering

mastering gentle slashing…strokes

The last woman I loved

So let this miracle
become your name
in keeping with my
litany of light

With prayer I will
slavishly confess
to all the little things
that I kept quiet

As quiet as my tongue
upon your tongue
let silence make its
maudlin request

of eyes that form
a question in the air
to promises that
I could love you less

Morning Song

And did you scent the
blossom on the breeze
that gently touched
the soil as you passed by

though gathered here for
love, I give you these
as proof that everything
we have will die

So take this token
now, I give to thee
for time she intimates
when we should part

and never will a
gesture offered free
become the loss that
craved a broken heart