At Gull Pond

I am the soft fold of a silk scarf

as it drops to the sand.

I am the smooth underside of a beach stone.

I am salt and dampness in your mouth.

The weight of you lingers,

leaves an impression on the shoreline

like a chalk outline

at a crime scene.

We swim in soundless waters,

float on surface tension

like watermeal and rootless duckweed.

The afternoon grows long as

we amble through the dunes

and watch the weed raker

clear the pond of invasive life.

Drip drying, I lean, lopsided

against a sandbank, heeding

the horizon, knowing

winter will steal the sun.

And I can’t pretend
I don’t need to replace you.

Fire and Earth

How can I love

in a vacant room,
gasping at air

too thick for my lungs.

Voiceless conversations

repeat themselves,

so loud in their silence,

they crack the night.

Ice-gray air in the morning sky

warns of looming squalls,

terrible winds that will

lay me prone.

A downpour of recollect

washes sins,

erodes fear,

clears the way but

How can we love

when yours is earth

and mine, fire.

I burn you.

Without flame,

I am not protected

from the harsh terrors

of a shadowed eve

And always at risk

of exposure

when the rising light
falls on my heart.