Saturday

I allow myself

to walk in cold breezes,

finding friends

in long night shadows.

I become

a silent film—

a girl forced

to slow herself so

perfection does not

break her.

On the Radio

It could be paradise
BOSE speakers sound LIVE
broccoli, bananas, avocados - fresh!
Wrangler: real, honest jeans.
It could be paradise.

The Door Beckons

Look through my veined glass to
your path, its light-flecked promise. Ignore
the bed where he sleeps, the worn
pillow you’ve shared. Though time dries up
to this moment, you’ll lose no refuge
in a single, severing step
through me.

the absence of fear

in her mind’s eye
silent wolf stalks, stares, only                                              
heat declares its steady presence                          


she imagines
commander watches, waits, holds
precious seconds
in rifled hand


and with them she lifts
a small sure head
to her future hour