Published Works

Standing still, Flecks of dust
clinging to my hair.
Working silent, images
of opened boxes
flicking through
the crevices.
I wonder how many
shovels of dirt
it will take
to bury
every box I opened?
Each box held
some fantasy or secret
which I held inside
but never
opened before.
Standing awake, knowing
the battle will begin
when the last box
is buried.
I'll dig the holes myself.
I'll forget
every image I held
pretend that I
am an open book
with empty pages.
That is the facade
I will play.
Like an old song
that is remembered
only by the
ears that happened
to have the radio
on long ago.
I will play the song again.
Hum its melody.
Later I will
put it in a box.
Bury it alongside
the boxes of my dreams.
The storm begins.
I am vulnerable
cannot protect myself
against the
clinging of the doubt.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Published in "the Recusant" 2010

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