Call it luck if you like
to stick or twist of split
we made it half of our home.

The moss eventually
becomes something fresh; a seat
for us to prime for home.

All those sins are ours
to own without severing
a past that dwarfs a future, bright.


See the moon
through binoculars,

The pebbles lean
to waves that open and close
and smell like the moon.

Around and around,
that folly in parks
made the weight worthwhile.


It’s nigh nearly time
for bed and then in every
dream, the world we never knew.

We are nothing with a tale
to tell, a war wound
triggered by lead and fireworks.

Half legal but still
we desire, nay need,
one less than before.