will melt it all away:
the exact shapes of
tops of these trees,
laugh lines, crow’s feet,
maps of daily walks

there, on that street, stands
a minute from not so long ago
its wax melting in the sun
visiting hours running out

(prompt)

were packed inside
5 boxes this evening
now it’s only dust
on the cold marble floor:

no book by the bed
no shadow on the wall
no trace left behind
on 27th Main Road at all

(cross-posted)

today it’s a tree bent
under the weight of flowers

sometimes it’s a person,
a place, an idea; or even nothing

so much fits right in — some
for a moment, others for life

the centre of life holds a lot, but
never a thing shaped like me

(cross-posted)

those who know
a thing or two

will smooth out
rough edges

strike out
what’s yours

saw off
whole limbs

with cold
precision

just to make you
more “relevant”

(prompt)

i envy you
walking on water

touching nothing
spectator to your own life

nameless, unnoticed, you
swallow worlds whole —

they’re right there, unharmed,
when you turn around

(prompt)