Selected early work, kept as written.

Nearly Gone

Rhododendron,
In the bush
Untouched, but by the summer light
A flower
From afar
A flower
With no stem to Hold

At the end of Autumn
No one will keep you

Rhododendron,
When,
Mornings fall into the forties
And the air bruises your blossom
And the wind crumples you inward
You will be gone.

Rhododendron,
Stay longer
Mull in the pages
Of a thick tome,
Let your perfume fill the text
And when the words
Take all your pink
Come out
Vintaged

Rhododendron,
Now you are
Flattened
Like the daffodils
And the roses
And old corsages

Hung from the wall
In a new world of
Sepia

Blebs

I wonder if you know,
When you graze that spot
On the left side
Of his ribcage
He can't feel it.

Your fingers will slide,
And you'll mistake
Constellations of keloids, for
Rosy tips

The aftermath of,
Spontaneous
Pneumothorax

Don't worry about the pronunciation
Just say,
"collapsed lung"

You'll have to know the signs:
Walking, he'll stop
And smile,

Hand held,
To haggard
Chest

"One second"
You'll never feel it
But (please),

Know that at any time
The balloons, in his chest
Might let out a little

Air, and when the
Spongy flesh
Rubs against its
Neighbor,
He can't breathe
But he won't tell you,
Not unless you ask.

Somewhere

Why is it that when I stare across the Atlantic Ocean that the first thought is of you, not where I am, some lover or friend, just you. And why is it that only now, with over five thousand miles between us, land and sea, that we can say sorry. Sorry for all the time we wasted pretending to be ok and rushing onto vessels we thought would take us places. We are both so impetuous. I wish you were here, where I'm sitting and seeing through these eyes that look so much like yours, because this is solace. Watching waves of cerulean cut into lines of stone like they've done for eons, simply coming together and coming apart; enduring motion. Before I lived, before you did. After you die, and after I do. We are just spectators everything we've been was little compared to the motion of this sawing sea upon the cliffside.

The past is gone. I want to show you that we can breathe out now.