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The humble carpet brush 
sweeps away
cigarette ash, 
    moth scales, 
    dried tears,
and angel dust.

The plow has savaged this sweet field
Misshapen clods of earth kicked up
Rocks and twisted roots exposed to view
Last year’s growth demolished by the blade.

I have plowed my life this way
Turned over a whole...

He wanders slowly,
hands in his pockets,
eyes tracing the faces
frozen in time,
their stories reaching out
from the quiet walls.

The floor creaks softly beneath him,
but the air feels heavy
weighted with...

When friends became kin,
I knew good things could be seen,
Through you this I’ve known-
And so much you’ve grown,
Here I remind you it’s true,
A true friend is such as you.
Many honest prayers for you
And abundant...

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her...

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of...

Knocking at my mind’s door,
Slyly you ask to come in,
Often, we sleep all night
Often, we tangle 'til dawn
Sometimes I think you make me whole
Sometimes I think you kill me
Even when I wish you away
I can’t help but...

It was no clean cut —
carving you out of my heart,
for you came out
with little bits of me.

But you're like a tumor,
that grows ever more
the more I cut.

But how can I keep you,
when you sting—so...

He stands, arms folded,
the forest alive around him.
Sunlight filters through the green,
but he's calm, rooted,
like he belongs here.

Maybe he's thinking,
maybe just breathing,
but in this moment,
he's part of...

Sultry heat
A tad bit softened
But concrete is still burning
With rays of summer
Trees are getting ready
For autumn
A radical discoloration
A jaw-dropping
Transformation
That would leave
The...

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose...

It arrived in pain, It never asked me for permission
Every scar became a sentence, every failure a page,
I stopped chasing applause and chased purpose instead.
The person I wanted to become was waiting behind the one I had to...