When twilight finds you by the sea and memory tears collect renounce the tide that has taken me.

Can you love me laissez-faire when the path leads to and fro and not succumb to daily wear?

Raju had no choice. Beggars can’t be choosers. He had to do it. His natural disposition didn’t suit this kind of work, but a man does what he must do to survive. That’s how it goes.

Here is the bed where I can’t sleep and there’s the desk where I can’t write, abandoned papers in a heap.

A cleverer student would remember Milton’s voice a line of iambs marching free, an ego perhaps from God’s own lips.

awake again without a reason why the ghostly fingers drag along my spine telling me that everything is fine that I don’t have to suffer; dry my eyes.

In the hills behind my house, bodies burn The vapors rise over the sakuras While I sit by my window with my dogs

If boots could talk the tales they’d tell of wearied limbs up random fell

I remember… Vivid sights.

I’ve lived in France for decades but still feel an outsider. Born in St. Thomas, I had Jewish parents of Creole-color, wealthy merchants who never approved of my valuing

How is it I will know them? shall it show in the white of their eye shining brighter than pure laid snow

I know we don’t share points of view you skirt ‘round me, I guard ‘round you

Pray to an ever-nigh somewhat, yet know thing With a fool’s knowledge spawned in unearthing voids

Shall I compare thee to this land, enshrined, And thus risk bleak and unintended blame When nature’s lovely gifts, by gods designed, Hide blemishes that bring the match to shame?

She loves you with a burning flame but spending passion quickly she jilts you just the same.

For what little it’s worth now, we might as well be a boatful of grasses beached on a highway: not the first time we’d have met each other in the wrong

The sign flickers, half-lit, as if undecided. Inside, a man replaces springs no one takes time to save.

The James Webb found the furthest galaxy, again. The polar ice caps are dripping at my door. I'm waiting for the war in my head to begin

April, here I drill. Turning the heavy clay-rich soil, I include hardware store compost bags. I encircle heirloom tomatoes, Cherokee Purple and Green Zebra, with the wire cage.

Do you think of that morning? The two of us half-drunk from life and the night, believing the world would always embrace us...