The Breach

The Breach

Killed off darlings
litter the landscape
of a boy and a bear and a bag full of sweets
in 1941

where ghosts roam and half truths call home
and unexpected pianos influence generations
twice removed.

Wash the sour from your teeth
and think of youth
and gargoyles amid spires.
There’s a day coming where we’ll
call this house a home
and this metered offering a friend.

Divine means make t-shirts
if they make miracles at all
and the subtle is working
just as well as this pen is writing.

Today, today, before it all gets too cold.

-April 24, 2016

More poetry