Written Off

The clouds are closing in

like terrible teeth from the jaws of the mountain,

clenching down onto the dour day.

A thousand little footsteps patter through the tiles

unsure of their direction,

fading away into those lowly confines

that we reserve for everything that has served its use;

buried in the ground.

In Your Curls

The shore beckons, 

waves hurl their shells 

empty, they leave impermanent prints 

before being wiped by the pull

and the push of rising waters.

Glide

A petal tumbles through the air

though, slowly, not quickly

as if suspended from somewhere.

Its course confusing but destination determined;

so easy to see, yet hard to explain

like the stone to which it travels

to join the rest; dying, darkening, dead.

Tension on Twelve

The doors kissed to mark the start

of another trip to the ground floor.

Soft jazz battles with the burlap silence 

of a man and woman alone together.

Thoughts stay home to hum, tap, and sigh

at the sight of another missed opportunity.

First Date

I squeezed conversation out

like near empty toothpaste;

coarse, uneven, and not enough.

Her ice was melting fast,

and I was the empty glass

as we both sipped and stared.