The Distant Present

The Distant Present

I’ve noticed the change,

where before clouds would pass

now this weather is still.

Torrential rain or sunshine rays

and I observe from above,

untouched by the daily gusts of wind,

I am holding this self in place.

Something stays with me,

I cannot put my finger on it,

but a trace of your soul remains in my days

and I’ve never felt more peaceful.

I trace yours

with intentions sent across ocean waves.

Our love spans continents,

don’t ask me how

you exist so close when so far away.



Spread your fingers wide, arms raised

towards the sky, like the sun

is pulling you to new heights,

to open spaces now that your hands

are no longer wrapped tight around your body

with impossibilities repeating.

Meet your feelings as peace doves,

treat their wounds, gather up their spilled blood.

Let the daylight soak into the scars on your exposed skin,

breathe in to your love coming home.

What I Don’t Want You to Know About Me

What I Don’t Want You to Know About Me

Here’s what I don’t want you to know about me:

  1. I keep my eggs in a few baskets

so no one can break all of me at once.

  1. I’ll only ever hint at my monsters

to hide the fact they still jump out of my bed at any time.

And if you know about them they’ll haunt you too.

  1. You cannot unknow what I tell you

so I’ll probably not tell you much.

  1. I’d never grow cynical of love

but I’m cynical of you lasting

because life has taught me that most people leave.