Monday, April 11, 2016


i have been counting all day.
your failures,
my offenses.
my failure,
your woundedness.
your grace,
my weakness.
my hopes,
your dreams.
your questions,
my questions.

the list of ‘druthers is long and varied.
we are not so different, really.

perhaps our memories fail us
with their (un)certain grip,
or should fail us more often.

it’s all in the way
we cook the books –
what we write; what we erase.