Lovers

I come to see, in the gasp between our love making, when there’s nothing there, when the emptiness is so full I forget to like my pain - that mean fathers produce truth tellers, lovers who gaze lost, seeking, us deep in the earth, with eyes hopeful like a child’s eyes, wet and glistening, arriving…

Layers

the anger is thick, deep, it is like a crust, molded and beginning to stink, for so long it has festered, I’ve tended to it like a garden, conjuring thorns, weeds, a swarm of insects, I have seemed to like it– but it’s the emergence of grief that breaks through, the tenderness that cuts it,…