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There’s a nail on the wall -tilted and pocked above some half-chalked sketch of a man paying no mind to the chrysanthemums. He, who makes no fuss about the lights being on or off, stills in the room that studies his window, and welcomes us with the same worn-out expression we oblige. Out of formality…

For Where I Am

For those I have met on my journey, whose path pointed back into mine, by gestures and jots sewn to thousands of thoughts, of this, it has been His design. For the seasons both hopeful and lonesome, of the months bearing titles like ‘May’, with each day forming showers in drought-ridden lands when dew drops,…

The Park

Northern pintails brushing blue, the crescendo of their wings, weaving windsong into words some say that, “Up jumped spring.”   The rising sun, through veils of dun, atop a pool of glass with flitting beams, does bend the streams to cast a liquid brass.   Children fashion cradles, and white whiskers out of string, and…

Giuseppe at the Getty

There’s a pigeon by the pillars Pecking back at what I throw And yet, he knows not of my debt While bobbing to my dough   I’m Giuseppe at the Getty And I haven’t got a dime Just one beat case And weathered face To show for tickin’ time   There’s a woman in the…