We all have our secret places we carry with us all our lives. But time makes them so mythic we sometimes wonder whether they existed at all.

I stirred the fallen leaves
in a walk of dream.
There was no destination.
But each footfall woke a thought in hibernation.

Once thoughts crawl
out of dark corners
and onto white pages,
all fragments compete for expression,
to witness the greater whole.

I’d write to you
if my words were limbs-
capable enough to touch you.

I'm tired of words,
but somehow they
bridge the distance between us.

Ashes pour
through his bloodshot eyes
as the fire inside of him dies.

I nuzzle into you
Finding your heartbeat
That soothe of its beating
Nested in your eyes.
If could stay, just there
a lifetime.