When she left, the winds picked up and the bloated sun filled the horizon with fire, the sky turning ochre. She hurried in the heat, leaving behind what she called a tribe, not a homeland.

I have compiled an incomplete list of the small and many forms of sadness that can be experienced by humans. The sadness of cracking the spine of a new book. The sadness of odd socks. The sadness of attempting to pet a cat, but the cat does not wish to be petted.

I begged my boss to let me do the interview with the fire historian. I have form, I told him.

She stared at the many photographs of blackthorns. A cluster of people wandered past and gathered at the next easel, but her feet refused to budge from ‘Number 13’

Blessed are the weak of mind for they shall have the appearance of answers and be troubled only when they encounter people with contrary answers and yet . . .

The Universe dreamed I’d come to its restaurant. I needed to pass the time before my train home.

the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting.

snow crystals
on my neighbor’s windows …
Foreclosure askew

& more

Empty Basket

Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery.

We are in the bath, your hands
around my back, mine around yours—
everything covered in a fog.