straight line

he walks in that direction
he definitely shouldn't stray

he walks straight, keeps from gusts and faster cars
impassible to time and times.

a blade

where, after the winter long
layers of earth lay, where can't sisters and brothers
rush the grain?
but still land lies fallow, under the glow of
an unborn winter. we had rugs to sit on
and eyes to fill.
still a single blade of grass shoots to the light
leaving me with a non-parallel antonym
to forgive-and-forget.

for b.j.

North|wishtanding the loneliness

sometimes you have a way out
and sometimes you don't
sometimes it's easier to look back in anger
than kick it in the gutter

as if cradling what's broken
might mend it again.
so you want to erase
and give yourself an excuse

but it'll only throw you in a loop
and leave you out in the cold
where all is left is empty bottles
and leaves that crack brown.