portum

my house is vast 
and filled with prayers
i’ve made room for you
atop the stairs
the shelves are filled
with things you need
the light’s left on
so you can see. 
if i am asleep and
you need to talk
or you stumble in
and can barely walk
or you reach the door
with little left
from life and loss
and pain and theft;
others are here with
hands to hold
offering warmth to 
shake off cold,
suspecting that you might
need to be told-
you belong. 

almanac

we fell into unwilling hibernation
that early spring. trees hadn't yet
bud their impertinent blooms into the
brooding ides of march. life,
oblivious, hadn't yet paid its room
and board for an early november
check-in. sealed in and slumbering, 
breathing was made unprecious, 
mattering dematerialized us, numbness
overwhelmed our stored selves. 
thoughtless meltwater loosened, 
dissolved, and removed the natural paths 
between us. and staying
in the back of our caves, 
surrounded by scant reserves, 
we never considered what 
wintering through another 
season's cycle might mean.

hypotension

the doors stand neatly
nesting resting sleeping
keeping time with 
echoes of the last bell.
the halls to walls
and ceilings look down
on rarely scuffed
floors as well.
flow has slowed and the 
body bends low and
sleeps restlessly-
an empty shell.