Category: Poetry

It is true that to a certain extent
that we know ourselves
through the eyes of others..

In the imprint of receded tides
new topographies reveal
replenished pools
of orange stars…

In the roots
circles are closing
like tears after dark
in winter
in the park…

We are,
each of us,
strange constellations
knit together by half…

Fear is a subtle, cold congestion
Deadening circularity
Frustrated containment
A continuous appeal…