“The house is full of cards and flowers.
On the dinner table, the tv-stand, the kitchen counter.
The cards are taped to the door.
You don’t get to see them,
but they all mention you.

The house is full of flowers.
Big ones and small ones.
They bloom now that spring’s here.
All different colours and shapes.
You can’t smell them anymore.

Your picture is on the shelf.
A radiant smile against the grey.
You’re with them again.

The house is full of flowers and cards.
All addressed to me,
while they’re meant for you.”

A.V.

Today the weather mirrored me—
gray thoughts hung low, heavy and wide.
I lay in bed, heard leaves brush secrets,
heard the wind howl what I hide.

I peeked through blinds, saw flooded walks,
rain pouring like it never ends.
A world soaked through in quiet grief,
no rush to break, no need to mend.

I stepped outside—my shoes went dark,
each step a soft and sinking sigh.
My hair, once dried from morning’s rinse,
now clung like truths I brushed aside.

Cold traced fingers down my neck,
the air was sharp, the silence loud.
But somehow, soaked and shivering,
it felt like standing in a crowd.

It hasn’t rained in far too long—
just like I haven’t cried for days.
But now the sky and I agree:
we flood in our own sacred ways.

I know the sun will rise at dawn,  
But not the paths my feet will drawn.  

I know the words, yet not their weight,  
Nor how they’ll twist or seal my fate.  

I know the sea, its waves so wide,  
But not the depths where secrets hide.  

I know the seed, but not the tree,  
Or what its branches yet may be.  

I know the start, but not the end,  
A fleeting thought I can’t defend.  

I know enough to humbly say—  
The more I learn, the less I know each day.

Cirrus

You are not just a cat,
but a cloud come to rest
in a shape, soft and breathing.
Wind-white fur and sky-colored eyes—
A silver lining
with paws.

T knows you disappear sometimes.
Slipping into the folds of the house
Or sneaking through the grass,

The temperature changes when clouds disappear
And the rooms remember what they’re missing.
You vanish just long enough
to teach the joy of your return.

And maybe you do it on purpose—
not to worry him,
but because you know,
That something loved, thats lost, then found—
Is held more dearly and close
Than something never lost at all

But Cirrus,
you should know
you have been the storm at the center of a heart
that never stops checking the weather.
And there's no magic or disappearing act
That could make you more adored

So hide and reappear,
ghost and glide,
cloud and curl beside him at night.
For even when you're out of sight,
you are never out of love.

You and nature get along well,
Blue skies, brown eyes, green thumb.
Have you seen the spirits lately,
Does the river ever ask about me?

Look outside this spring,
See sunlight shine away the winter,
After endless rain,
Dark soil calling new growth.

And if it feels like nature to you as well, lets
Reduce our distance, plant roots again,
Reuse our same old jokes, repeat our favorite dates,
Recycle all this love we have, it can be new and feel the same.

The poets dwell
within their Hell
on a Sabbath day
witching hour

Their minds a wreck
Their hands  
of tech
They grind their teeth
in angst

Silence staid
The beds unmade
Searching for who
knows what

Snaps a pencil
It's indefensible
He can't go back
to bed

Quasimodo?
Was he noble ?
Played center for
Notre Dame

Came draft day
He was cast away
Which foot was it
you ask ?

Well the venom's drip
that sank a ship
Manned by mushroom
brained morons

Will be the first
to experience the worst
That trickles down
that piggies leg

"We all live in a yellow submarine"
It's just another "Day in the life"
After all happiness is a
warm warm gun