The rusted metal shingles dared time enduring storms
now home to playful pigeons loudly cooing their freedom.
Skeletal wooden arms reaching towards the sky
revealing the rotten underbelly, a dying creature
refusing to let go but slowly fading.
A broken path now covered by overgrown bushes
still retains ghostly footprints of healers and conquerors
of forgotten people and pain.
How to endure the passing times
a child’s play in broken rhymes
of dreams and pain,
what I lost, what I gained.
I see my ghost in crumbling places
in silent sounds and wrinkled faces,
counting time in one more breath
I defy life and welcome death.



My grave in your thoughts

a final resting place,

no dirt but ashes on a distant shore

my name to be spelled on a salty taste

of a stranger’s tongue.

And what will remain

but the fading memory of my face

in the soft cradle of your hand.

Nothing lasting forever,

nothing ever needs to stay

only ashes on a distant shore

scattered across the sand.


March 17, 2021

“on the eve of my birth”


Smooth black down the seam of her dress-

A hundred years not enough on a grave

when a kiss resurrects your desires for a stone

decorated italics marking all that was done.

Shame and greed, but how love one more kiss

on these lips old and dry, to embrace

one last dance of a beautiful end with no trace

of the who I became and the what I’ll become-


If I Ever Fall


Who will break my fall

If I ever do fall.

Who will gather pieces

if I ever break

and becomes my glue

or will sooth my soul.

Who will calm this ache

burning deep within,

where would they begin

If I ever break

or If I ever fall.


“The splendid thing

about falling apart


is that

you can start over

as many times

as you like.”

― Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos




The parrots came back today.

A pandemonium of green feathers crowding the feeder

pushing, squawking for a taste of sunflower seeds.

My mind wanders, the feathery sound clouding thoughts

of time and place, adrift, my heart weeps.

How do I grasp life when it seems to slowly slip away?

Words mute in my throat do not follow

the path of my pen, building up, choking a voice

of freedom and love, the sound hollow

while I feed my needs, pushing, amidst the noise

around this flock of lost souls, to find my way.



“Demented by uncertainty,
Fidgeted by certainty,
That’s how we abide by what we call destiny.”
― Komal Paudyal

Dreams of Sand


How easy the sand shifts it shape

at the mercy of the waves it transforms

around rocks, and this hand like a god

changed a course drew by nature.

My imprint tells of me when it’s caught

in the rush of the water and the sand

to remain for a moment, just a moment,

‘til the waves come along once again

and erase all I was in the sand-


“Sand lines my soul which is filled with the breath of the ocean.”

― A.D. Posey

I am

I was a light, along a path to seek

I thought I was a light.

I was of love, a kiss upon a cheek

I thought I was of love.

I was the ink, for words a soul to speak

I thought I was the ink.

But I’m but flesh to age and rot

and turn to dust,

a flick of cells I must

for all the above I’m not-


“I don’t know what keeps me mingled—
in excitement and grief.
I know no name of this fire I burn in—
but only that it is and I am.”
― Rafy Rohaan