Occasions
In the chilly air of late morning
Hangs the scent of rain,
Yet the damp birds sing brightly.
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Wisdom is a pyrrhic victory
won against the self,
freeing you from the burden
of hope and despair alike.
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Seize the nettle
and pinch the candle’s flame.
Hubris is what is needed
when inconstancy defuses blame.
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A flock of birds flying
in diagonal formation—
the first stroke of paint
over the canvas of winter.
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Love casts its shadow over the stairway.
Not wanting to sing,
I wait for the sign.
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A desire that has grown old in dreams—
a halo shining over a skull.
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Alba
If your hand
had been thornless
not a single branch of crowd
would linger
beyond your breath.
Twitching masks kiss—
the glare you despise.
And yet, like an interloper,
you uncover my bones.