This quiet this
kind of time 
when I alone 
seep and steep
seeing and seemingly 
stewing far away 
though very near 
to you you
know and ask 
where’d you go 
knowing where there
you can’t come 
but curious you 
are nonetheless knowing 
too that such
a place offers 
no postcards of
which to send
just me when 
I come back 

Looking now upon
my barren field 
all rocks roots
and stumps gone 
I stand wondering 
what to plant 
and if to
ever plant again 
ocean of soil 
which ebbs nowhere 
if left untouched 
will be consumed 
like a blackboard 
begging for chalk
one makes another 
what it is 

I feel blessed 
to have had
I’ll leave hope
for all those 
who have not 
after all just 
how much of
a good thing 
can one expect 
in this life 

At the end 
of the day
as my room
is warmly bathed
in the dust 
of setting sun
all ever else 
that is spied 
atop my bed 
glows with gold
except for eyes 
those are emerald 
and set in
lids of alabaster 

Like a mongrel
or feral cat
out there somewhere 
and seldom seen 
rarely known frequently 
avoided I roamed 
oh sure yes
some have tried 
but walls and 
moats long ago 
dug and erected 
kept most out
but now here
in this city 
for no good 
reason besides kindness 
I’m cared for
no longer invisible 
I am one 
of a pack
a part of