between the bones

Lemon-peel sour

and sharper than kitchen knives,

that taste in my mouth.

I burned us to ash, swallowed

charred silence and empty years.

patchwork

I never grudge your
silence, even while it grates
against stitched-up wounds.
I'm loath to throw out these scraps,
remnants that ought to be whole.

haunt

On the days I find
myself thinking of you, there
might be autumn in
the air, or spring, or any
number of times in between.

grasp

I hate the steady
drain of time, slipping over
the daylight's edge with
aplomb.  It tastes of secrets,
candyfloss that melts away.

method

Old dogs to new tricks,
like ducks to strawberry jam,
are perhaps a bit
slow to take.  Yet applying
jam to tricks is just as wrong.

resentment

It's time for candy
apples and crisp scarlet leaves,
pumpkin carving and
ghost stories by the fire,
not this surly sweltering.

you and I

Can two strangling vines
exist? Not in the same place,
though our roots tangle.
One will win. One will thrive, yet
the other cannot survive.

one thousand jiaozi at mid-autumn

Time is running out
of the glass, of the timer,
pressing heavy on
my hands, shaping translucent
crescents filled with summer's end.

rising tension

A sponge is too light
to be worked with careless hands,
to be pushed aside.
I am not delicate, I
fall--but don't bruise easily.

pumpkin

The breath of God wafts
through autumn, from my oven,
rising happiness.
Come and join me! We'll have tea
and sympathy, and muffins.

ache

I push hard against
anything that might resist.
When you are not here,
even pillows could bruise me,
even a petal's descent.

asana

Back pressed hard into
sweat-slick mat, I open up.
I am tree-rooted
arching into the blue sky
muscles fluttering like leaves.

drag

Stacks of words in black,
standing even with my head,
box me in alone.
Even in this self-made cell,
only words can set me free.

Tanabata (七夕)

Oh, gleaming maiden,
reach out your hand to catch mine!
I will not fail you.
Promises are heavy things,
but this love lightens my load.

message in a bottle

A match struck to light
is no brighter than my eyes,
catching sight of you.
The hurt lies, not in the slight,
but the oversight, a chroí.

sultry

Lovers' ardent words
falling around me like song-
A bird's liquid trill.
In the heat of midsummer
you are leaving me undone!