And still, we are confused

when a loved one dies — 

as though we didn’t ask, first,

to know.

My sincerest apologies,

I forgot how much

it hurts when the air you breathe,

it burns, and the way you see

it’s worse.

My most earnest regrets,

I didn’t know you’re

hiding, I didn’t see you

crying, I didn’t believe you could be

lying.

Sweet, sweet separation

between river

and her rock, pen

and her paper, tree

and her leaves, night

and her starlight, such

sweet, sweet distinction.

Rather, those silver-bar

sand dunes gleam white,

under those stars that

never set over black

¹⁵They are the living dead, they swim in the Styx under a silver moon,¹⁶they ceased crying long ago, they are the Gray.

Our reflections in

mirrors, the taste

of water,

our breath, our

fingers counted

in fives.

Right now, and

forever, for

the first time.

The brown rain soiled

under a rusted sky,

rainbows in puddles’ oil.

The elements enchained, we’re

swallowed up in steel beasts.

100 followers may seem like a small goal, but it has taken me many months and I’m very grateful to have reached it.

On deaf tempest

and wild fire

my muted plea

fell, merely more

for the pyre.

I watched a boy chase a butterfly.

It was getting dark and hard to see — 

He was far from home and lost his way

when the butterfly landed in my tea.