Pockets of light
illuminate the shore:
day submitting to dark

I trace the lines
of our passage

How winds and tides
shaped us; how carelessly
we wasted time…

Danced around
our solitudes –
imitating intimacy

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)



Even in togetherness there is distance.

I am alone.

A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact  –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.

Define success…
Is it the one on top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?

I am unable to discern –
stability never more than a dalliance.

The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging,
can I tolerate the quest?

Unfulfilled, I am protective,
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…

bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.

I can do it, on their behalf.

Never alone.

Always distances to cross.



Love In Aisle Nine

Lust ignores warning signals,
fancies itself a savvy consumer,
commits minor infractions with
confidence, sidestepping anxiety.

Loneliness – near-sighted – shops
without discernment, fails to
recognize that all life is transient,
and patience is the key to harmony.

Love – the main attraction – is not
a lone chauffeur, a self-serving
commander, feeding off helplessly
disabled, regressing into insanity;

nor is it initiated by determination,
a product of drive – brokenness
barreling through hurt’s congestion,
misinterpreting openings; the path

to intimacy requires compliance,
obeys service, calms egos, a slow
non-consumer based passage: no
bargains in the commitment dept.