grip

i like poetry
that overflows you
without soaking
the page.
poetry that wobbles
your hand enough
to blur words.
poetry that makes you
look away first,
dares you
to turn the page
to escape
its gaze.

fall

climbing down i've noticed
that there's little
more than shadows and echoes
at the bottom of a well.
in that dark, handholds
could just as easily grab
as release. shadows tending
to bend upward, relying on
fickle seasonal sunshine to
rise, give chase to echoes.
and the echoes seem to
dissolve outward seeking
faded freedom in the sky.

corpus