a busted-lip morn
as i mourn this stage of life:
dry. unforgiving.

a busted-lip morn
as i mourn this stage of life:
dry. unforgiving.
even in winter
the creek’s reflection persists
(a skeletal view)
one day at a time
I’ll win back my little one
(no longer little)
a soft Saturday
to soften life’s hard edges
with kindness and calm
my life in a meal:
always trying for the pic
always missing it
this choice will break me no matter what i decide. so i should decide.
ironic notice
as the words come flooding in
(yet i can’t stop them)
no. i had no plan.
no plan for any of this.
(nor a solution).
Mama, a salad?
is that what i wanted?
you know me better
instead i’ll cuddle
as sweet as the day is long
keeping your night warm
like La Reina
finding comfort in each space
no matter size; sun
before dawn arrives
the snow still touches the sky
with white fingertips