December 7

comments 12

After all this talk of phases
and phase changes,

of dawns where the fog
plays at being water,

the air grown palpable,
the most regular of things

seeming reachy,
not quite

as we thought, as if
caught in the moment

when a dream
is revealed as such–

Yes, that plane will leave
no matter what,

this modern migration
not accommodating

of stragglers
who stayed up

North too long,
outlasting the cold,

floating past all sense
of time and urgency,

it’s just so difficult
to be bounded now–

this minute is all
mine, and the next one,

and the next.



P.S. officially a published poet now:




  1. Yes!!! So glad for you. : ) Your writing is so good that I was thinking you might have a chapbook I hadn’t discovered yet. I’ve been jumping on and off here lately. Family things…all good, but not quite all-consuming, so I’m catching up on things, but yours is the first. I’m going backwards now to where I left off with your poetry : )


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