We stacked doubt

on the pantry shelf

enough to last the winter;

you said yourself

it would be hard and bitter.

First published March 28, 2025 by Solum Journal Volume VI: Doubt

Fair is the weather
in my left coat pocket,
the weather in my hand.
Fair is the weather
like ribbons in my hair,
like feathers that I tuck behind my ear.

First published January 21, 2025 by The Sunlight Press

Sunless waves sleep not

but seek pleasant mornings

and warmer shores

to the left of twilight.

First published April 1, 2024 in As Surely As the Sun Literary, Issue 4, p. 15-16.

A parting glow that blackens trees

turns separate blades of grass to shadows,

different futures each,

which for an instant might have been—

or so it seemed.

First published April 1, 2024 in As Surely As the Sun Literary, Issue 4, p. 14.

Stretch that union foot by foot, inch by concrete inch.

We will hear of it

in yesterday’s news, certainly

by the day before yesterday.

First published April 1, 2024 in As Surely As the Sun Literary, Issue 4, p. 13.

Kilometers

north of home,

sunlight echoes

off glaciers, far

from the sea-

winds of Moss

First published 2012 in The Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art, vol. 86, p. 59.

I could tell you about magnolias,

their cones on the ground, closed

like dozens of doors, sharing

their scent of limes and pine needles.

First published 2012 in The Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art, vol. 86, p. 69.

We clutch our coats and watch the clouds unroll

the night. My jeans soak up the sky’s first thought

of dew, and shadows gather for a full

moon. Against the sky, trees stretch, branches taut

while darkness bays behind the treeline’s fence.

First published 2012 in The Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art, vol. 86, p. 108.

I remember you from college,

the girl who baked cupcakes

and laughed through her nose.

You don’t know this, but I mocked

you then, while I ate your cupcakes

with all our friends.

First published in 2021 in The Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art, vol 85, p. 33.

By the broken wall they fed

the chipmunks and listened

to the last train leave St. Almo.

It was too late in the year

to expect any tourists,

too early in life to give up.

First published in 2021 in The Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art, vol 85, p. 13.