i have never left this place. sitting on the front stoop looking through grass and scrub out over escarpment framed by ashen skies soundtracked by a roiling lake ontario. i have never left this place. feeling the roughened cliff top grasses perched imperiously over temperamental waters. i have never left this place. entreating the sparse indifferent cirrus wisps passing over flitting cliff swallows- where do they go during dark seasons? i have never left this place. and i wonder when memories like this fall away, where do they land? i have never left this place. still, messages from the person i left behind float to shore.
between you and me
you as you, me as me-
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.