It is
never seen
only felt
one small
step at
a time
never known
until the
very end
unless you
are one
to see
best to
be blind
to all
of this
Anger
It simmers
then boils
if left
it might
but likely
it burns
itself into
little nothing
yet wrecks
the pot
holding it
making useless
this thing
Tear
It’s as
though a
deeply buried
string has
been plucked
though silent
it sings
upwards and
then down
falling there
onto lap
without so
much as
a whisper
Sandcastle
New is
old again
and old
becomes new
and so
we go
this surf
lapping away
at sandcastles
most leave
I stay
making anew
this thing
of sand
Gregoire
From depths
of past
he bubbled
finding me
a voice
even today
I could
hear familiar
bonjour poet
it’s Gregoire
swim with
me again
