“Solstice Koan”

 

Why not trust

the return of the light

in the midst

of a cold winter rainstorm?

The shortest day

becomes the longest,

becomes the shortest again.

The cold sun crouches

on the moon’s furthest axis,

awaiting the signal to warmth.

“The Mold of Us”

 

No longer a surprise, this unveiling.

The cover rolls sideways,

exposing our feast, more spoiled

than before. Potato chunks,

green and crumbling at the edges,

bits of rancid meat, and the

gravy stain that washing can’t eradicate.

Despite the reek of putrefaction,

we salvaged all our leftovers,

just in case one of us grows hungry.

“Spectacle”

 

I stared at you so hard

you disappeared entirely.

Somewhere in the outlines

your shape remains,

waiting to be re-discovered.

Move along, please.

There is nothing

to see here.

You took everything,

including your own shadow.

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