Sun-scorched

your voice tries again
for a gossamer spell
a lustrous ghost
that can no longer
be conjured

for when it ceased
(the first time)
I rolled up the sun
and made my own light

here is my back:
and the scorch marks
to prove it

Moon’s Tryst

once you sang of the moon
and its silvery light
nestled in a velvet blue
a pearly orb of white

as you strummed, you looked at me
and conjured up delight
in your eyes love was full
and promised dazzling flight

but in the morning in my bed
your spot was empty, cold
the sun was fiery yellow
while this maiden, gray and old

now the moon, it hides from me
and in the sky plays dim
each night passing — lessening, waxing
for some other lovers’ whim

Glass Beach

the thought of you comes
no longer fraught with lonesomeness
but a simple, unthinking curiosity

as one would examine glass shards
I find your sharp edges
dulled by surf

Hazmat Suit

distill your ex-lovers
into a viscous liquid
that roils and turns gaseous
depending on the time of day
and tell yourself, “All will dissipate,”
only to find an unforeseen
radioactive isotope

Belongings

you left
your frayed toothbrush
in the cup we shared

Wilt

sweet memories wilt
upon your frown;
the smiles of yesteryear
like a mirage, vanish

Disenchanted

I mourn the ghost
of who you were —
that broken fineness
which still glimmers
behind your distrustful sneer

Fiberglass

Why can’t I speak the truth?
Why can’t I unburden my heart?

You find it childish perhaps
but it leaks out from you all the time
in those passive-aggressive remarks

in the way you isolate yourself

and talk to everyone through
a thick see-through wall

I was sick alone
but with you
the case is terminal

Nest

Where has your heart made its nest?
I thought it was here within my own breast
Yet I find only abandoned eggshells
When I peer beneath —
bitter swell

Blindfolded

the tipping point
the straw
on its own
is nonsensical

perhaps petty and childish

but how can you explain
the breakdown of a relationship
to one blind
before the last act?