this whetstone
solitude sharps
imaginate blades
'til i can continue
to carve selves from
white page wombs

my window inhales
tousled treetops all
windtangled with a
somewhere juniper's
stowaway smoulder

i exhale slow-turn
tentative bathroom
dances mirror squish
stretch evaluations a
steam cloud coated
beast with star eyes

elegant where it's
only ever unbearable
pluck good words from
blind men with these
birdflight wanderings
of my woman palms

condensate until
drop by drop those
dew poems slip
sleepy from almost
autumn's ceiling

& i'll never
know how he
puts up with me
blathering
about poetry

this day of
dallied
drudgeries

dusk draws close the
door of deep hours
the black barricade

hung on hush hinges
which opens only in
those lonely moments

at either end of each
day the door runed
with ancient symbols

of solitude barring
way to wee spaces
for breath & being