where did a year go oh where do it go
it’s 9 pm and my boots have minds of their own
I want to calm them with children’s stories and lullabies
though faith in such things wanes like driftwood stuck up against the wharf
Tag Archives: poet
untitled series 3 (Spring 2022)
3.
and the setting sun melts into deep pastels
somewhere in Portland
4.
we’re remembering the boil different reading seasonal temperatures like tea leaves looking for that right crisp beer, maybe, to tell us how we feel a proper cocktail to illustrate the mood
dreaming of a year that may have never been a season that never shifted we were just too young and too short to notice the sky that never falls in quite the way we think it orta
4 AM
spring storm air
damp at turns and warm
rain suspended in the fog
kissing the river