Rabbit Room day seven: Hospitality

you are welcome here
and so we began
 
share a meal with me
borrow my clothes
 
let time be our friend
it’s okay if you’re tired
 
there’s no need for secrets
so let us reason together
 
join me; let’s go dancing
all the world is music
 
this is my flesh; this, my blood
let us share everything
 
let us be one spirit
let us be one body
 
let us make each other
our home and rest

Rabbit Room day six: Form Friday

the way you said yes. always that
song of skin on skin. how joy
ascends. the mouth opens wide
to taste the moment. to thank
God for this exchange of flesh.
who knows our brokenness? who
wipes our tears away? she thought
his words could be trusted. caught his
eyes and found it all too much.

Rabbit Room day five: Neighbourhood

Sometimes it takes years
To get to know your neighbours

Passing each other every few days
Between shifts at work 

Maybe your children play outside
And occasionally play together

Or you have the barbeque going
And they drop by to see what’s cooking

Maybe one day they need your help
Or maybe you need theirs

The basement has flooded
Or there’s no babysitter

The new couch has arrived
And it’s so very heavy

It gets loud at night
And there’s no party

The dogs bark at everything
But you stop and talk anyway

Then you plant flowers in their yard
And water them daily

You bake cookies with open windows
And deliver a box to their door

You make your excuses
And say hello and hello and hello

Welcome to the neighbourhood
It’s a pleasure to meet you

Rabbit Room day four: Friends

and weren’t our hearts
burning within us?

walk with me

in the garden
for 300 years

tell me your secrets

sit with me here
next to the fire

we don’t need to speak

join me at the table
try some bread
olive oil, fish, wine

get some rest
I’ll be here tomorrow

Rabbit Room day three: Family

 
This is how a family shapes you.
Simply by being there,
just always being there.
Words that settle in the skin,
maybe forgiveness;
words of death and
words of life. Bursts
of laughter and silly dances,
flashes of anger and deep regret.
The times you couldn’t
afford anything but love,
and times of plenty
you took for granted.
Decisions made without
your approval, decisions made
with your voice as part of the choir,
decision made for you
as an unspoken blessing.
Sometimes you forget what
a many-splendored thing
a family is. Sometimes
it is a gift. Sometimes
it is not. You must decide
when to get your hands dirty.
Decide who’s the potter.
Decide who’s the clay.
 
*
 
Decide who’s the clay.
Decide who’s the potter –
when to get your hands dirty.
You must decide. It is not
sometimes, it is a gift.
A family is a many splendored thing.
Sometimes you forget.
It is an unspoken blessing,
a decision made for you,
your voice part of a choir.
A decision made without
your approval. You take for granted
times of plenty, times
you couldn’t afford anything more than love.
Bursts of laughter and dancing,
flashes of anger, deep regret.
Words of life.
Words of death.
Maybe: forgiveness.
Those words settle in the skin,
always just there.
Simply being there.
This is how a family shapes you.

Rabbit Room day two: Connection

Let me tell you about distance.
The emptiness of your mouth feeding
my mouth. Tasting your skin
but forgetting your name.
Wondering which words
will bridge the gap between
hope and sorrow, or regret
for all the said and unsaid
things. How to build
into each other. Which tools
to break or mend. And,
here, now, we negotiate
the terms. We entreat or we beg.
What can be offered.
What can be taken.

Rabbit Room day one: Invitation

you said you are welcome here
and maybe i was 

but there were suspicions
or i was suspicious
or maybe you were
or maybe i didn’t believe you
because there have been days
of sitting alone and longing
for someone to call my name
or nights spent alone
longing for someone
to call my name
and call it repeatedly
and call it until it is a mantra
an incantation
an oath
a promise to appear
in the doorway
perhaps with coffee
and croissants
or some flowers
maybe tulips or birds-of-paradise
or a hand extended
or my name on your lips

an [other] #NaPoWriMo?

Rabbit Room Poetry is facilitating a poem-a-day challenge for the month of November!

With #NaNoWriMo officially done, this is a hijacking after my own heart.

Find them on Substack for daily poetry prompts designed to kickstart your creativity and help you start or continue a writing rhythm.

Their inaugural theme is Words of Community.

From their Substack:

"Our creative work—and our lives—are richer when we are together. The breadth and depth of our connections with those around us can not only catalyze our own spiritual growth but also help transform the world. Through this year’s theme, we’ll ponder not only the role of interdependence in creative acts but also the power of community in our own lives."

Every Sunday, they’ll provide a list of daily prompts for the coming week. You can subscribe to Rabbit Room Poetry at the link above to have that list delivered right to your inbox, or you can follow along in their Substack Notes, where they'll be sharing each day’s prompt as well.

If you wish, you can share your poems by leaving them in the comments section on each note or on the weekly prompt post.

As a way to develop some illusion of discipline I will attempt to do each prompt and will post them here on the blog (and perhaps on the Rabbit Room Substack as well).

Join me (or at least follow along)!

#NaPoWriMo - day thirty

(find me a map)
(help me find the stars)
the paths are overgrown.
(find me a map)
covered in stones.
open the tomb.
we’ll gather at the appropriate time.
don’t worry; i’ll remind you
bring flowers.
bring words.
bring stories.
bring friends.
it’s time to decide which stories to tell.
make friends with the ghosts.
rouse yourself.
listen:
you will be missed.
you were always beautiful.
we keep expecting you to be here.
we face the difficult truth.
we wear our serious faces.
we consider the odds.
we are surrounded by friends and lovers.
hopes and dreams/ thoughts and prayers.
prepare the books.
a palimpsest of loss.
the bones of regret.
broken by time.
forever scarred by the sacred.
(find me a map)

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty nine

(and in the morning)
 
we invent our excuses
 
*
 
our bodies tell us
our stories
 
*
 
how often
the sounds you make
at night are different from
the sounds you make
during the day
 
*
 
forget words
 
*
 
say hello
to your animal self
 
i bear the marks
in my flesh
 
*
 
sometimes you make no sound
at all
 
so let us be kissed by silence
 
*
 
you made me believe
you were graced by emptiness
 
*
 
you tell me
there is constant music
if only you will listen
 
but i don’t believe you
 
i’ve never heard you sing

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty eight

the state
of being
constantly
under
threat
 
the constant
rounds of
disappointment
 
we run from one
battle to the next
 
*
 
this is the year
of broken hands
 
this is the decade
of just getting it done
 
this is a lifetime
of just around
the corner
 
this is the year
of jubilee
 
*
 
waiting for a seat
at the table
waiting for the
right moment
 
every week
the same groceries
every day
a planned meal
 
every morning
a new mantra
we wear like
running shoes
 
*
 
too busy
too often
too tired
too distracted
 
too bored
too full
too little
too much
 
*
 
we lie in the sun
until our bellies burst
we lie in the sun until
we’re bleached bones
 
in the valleys
a rattling
the wind
rushing

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty seven

There are roughly 206 bones in the average human body. We were born with around 270.
 
Some people inherit traits that lead to the development of extra bones in the feet, hands, or even the spinal column.
 
About 8% of people have at least one extra rib. Overall, about 15% of people have more or fewer than the standard 206 bones.
 
The largest bone in the human body is the femur or thigh bone. The smallest bones are the ossicles found in the middle ear: the malleus, incus, and stapes.
 
I have broken so many bones. I have broken bones even now. I could make a book with the x-rays.
 
As bones heal, they undergo remodeling. The newly formed bone reshapes itself. 
 
I’ll endure the pain. I will remain patient. Let me be transformed.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty six

what delicate things hands are
what delicate things hearts are
i have dedicated my hands
i have dedicated my heart
how desiccated are my hands
how desiccated is my heart

are hands delicate things?
are hearts delicate things?
to what are my hands dedicated?
to what is my heart dedicated?
are my hands desiccated?
is my heart desiccated?

how often beauty
is dried in the pages
of a favourite book
how often we underline
a favourite passage
while reading

we all make our lists
another way to measure
what we truly believe
we decide what it is
that we want to build
and we do it again and again

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty five

a day of books
holding words
in my hands
talismans
 
i am surrounded
by other book
lovers crushed
among stacks
 
conversations
about poetry
and stories
 
celebrations
of this voice
and that voice
calling out
 
we find these
other voices
gather the words
 
sound the depths
gather close
enter in

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty four

A dream: I’m washing the dishes and turn around to see someone walking out of the hallway towards the door carrying something. I realize there’s someone else right behind me, a stranger. I know he’s going to hit me, perhaps kill me. Don’t, don’t, don’t I say but he strikes me and keeps striking me and keeps striking me.

A dream: I’m washing the dishes and turn around to see someone walking out of the hallway towards the door carrying something. I realize there’s someone else right behind me, a stranger. I know he’s going to hit me, perhaps kill me. I search in the sink and find a chopping knife. Before he strikes me I take the knife stab him in the chest. I keep striking and striking and keep striking.

A dream: You’re washing the dishes and turn around to see someone walking out of the hallway towards the door carrying something. It’s me. I’m carrying everything that ever mattered. You realize you’re going to be alone. You stand by the sink and hold a chopping knife. You feel like you’ve been stabbed in the chest. I keep walking and walking and walking.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty three

 once i had several lovers.     i had several lovers once.
     when one was at work      i thought that truth
   i would be with another.     would prevent a wound.
      i first wrote “wound”.      by truth i meant "truth".
     when one was at work      the truth is we wound
   i would wound another.      without a thought.

i had several lovers once.      once i  had several lovers.
          i thought that truth       when one was at work
  would prevent a wound.      i would be with another
  by truth i meant “truth”.      i first wrote "wound".
     the truth is we wound      when one was at work
           without a thought.      i would wound another.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty two

30% of people think reading regularly makes them better than others.
30% of people can flare their nostrils.
30% of people have two jobs.
30% of people don’t use bar soap.
30% of people will love you.
30% of people think most people can be trusted.
30% of people eat candy nearly every day.
30% of people believe they will live to a hundred.
30% of people have experienced some form of abuse.
30% of people lie about how much they give to charities.
30% of people are highly sensitive.
30% of people are overweight.
30% of people have snooped through someone’s desk.
30% of people are nervous to go out alone.
30% of people will decline to attend a wedding.
30% of people have dated a roommate.
30% of people will hate you.
30% of people have never been to a drive-in theatre.
30% of people will be replaced by AI.
30% of people have never built a snowman.
30% of people do not want to have children.
30% of people distrust science.
30% of people say they don’t know how to make friends.
30% of people leave something behind on vacation.
30% of people admit to running a red light.
30% of people don’t know how to drive.
30% of people don’t believe in God.
30% of people say they have never felt more alone.
30% of people think they’re great at small talk.
30% of people won’t cut and paste this.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty one

I miss Prince.
I never saw him play live,
though friends and family have.
I admit to no small amount of jealousy.
I missed him here in Edmonton.
I would have loved
to see him play: Purple Rain, of course,
Controversy, The Cross, Kiss,
The Ballad of Dorothy Parker,
Starfish and Coffee…
but I really would have loved
to play basketball with him.
Something more personal,
intimate, human than a concert.
Pick and roll, fast break,
orchestrate. Defend, attack.
Set a screen. High five.
With or without heels.
 
And then pancakes.
Lots of pancakes.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty

Dear Ms. Smith. Miss Smith? Mrs. Smith?
I only know you as poet, Patricia.
I’m reading The Intentions of Thunder
and I’m pummelled. Pummelled.
 
I’m drawn in by the language while
also distanced from it. I discover
how white I am. And Canadian.
I’m trying to hear the chorus.
 
How can a poem be so deeply rooted.
How does the voice move around
from body to body. Poetic forms
structure the narrative. Declare:
 
How poetry is always a witness.
What are we looking for. What
are you looking at. Are you looking.
How can you bear it. How long.

#NaPoWriMo - day nineteen

And has the weather finally turned?
At what point do we pull out
the spring jackets and summer shoes?
When do we pack up winter coats,
heavy boots, mittens and scarves?
 
I do not trust the vicissitudes
of wind and sun and cloud
any more than I trust fashion.
 
I can dress in layers but
there is always too much too wear,
and what changes if you drive your car
or take public transit or ride your bike?
Then how big a bag, backpack or satchel?
 
The morning is bright and sunny
(though chilly), the afternoon windy,
and the evening humid and warm.
 
“For everything there is a season”
and I’m done trying to reason it out.
Everything keeps changing –
wait five minutes they say –
but I’ve been waiting for years.

#NaPoWriMo - day eighteen

They came mostly from the rift lakes:
Malawi, Tanganyika, Victoria: Angels,
Compressiceps, Peacocks, Frontosa, Oscars.
 
In the afternoons, after Drama classes,
we’d get high and sit in the basement
watching them, feeding them, breeding.
 
O, the drama! Each fish establishing
its territory, invisible borders shifting;
colours flaring or dimming, depending.
 
They were so beautiful. And every day
after Drama class we’d get high
and sit in the basement watching them.
 
Encased by three walls of aquaria,
each requiring constant cleaning, monitoring,
exchanging water. Separating fish.
 
Each time I left the basement –
(and emerged sleepily into the light)
I’d wonder where the time went.
 
But it was time well spent,
that time with friends, getting high
on beauty, all that watching, all that drama. 

#NaPoWriMo - day seventeen

The passenger pigeon had the most spectacular demise, plummeting from a population of billions to a population of zero in less than 100 years. Passenger pigeons used to flock by the billions. The passenger pigeon was the most common bird in North America.  Passenger pigeons traversed the continent in enormous flocks that literally blocked out the sun and stretched for dozens (or even hundreds) of miles.

Nearly everyone in North America ate passenger pigeons. Passenger pigeons were a crucial source of food for inland colonists who might have starved to death otherwise.

Passenger pigeons were hunted with the aid of 'stool pigeons'. 

Passenger pigeons were shipped East in railroad cars by the ton.

Passenger pigeons were shot by the tens of millions. Passenger pigeon flocks and nesting grounds were so dense that even an incompetent hunter could kill dozens of birds with a single shotgun blast.

Passenger pigeons laid only one egg at a time in closely packed nests atop the dense forests of the northern United States and Canada. Passenger pigeon breeding grounds were referred to as "cities."

Passenger pigeons nourished their newborn hatchlings with crop milk, a cheese-like secretion that oozes out of the gullets of both parents.  Passenger pigeons fed their young with crop milk for three or four days. Passenger pigeons abandoned the hatchlings a week or so later, at which point the newborn birds had to figure out how to leave the nest and scavenge for their own food.

Deforestation deprived passenger pigeons of their accustomed nesting grounds, and when these birds ate the crops planted on cleared land, they were often mowed down by angry farmers.

People tried to save the passenger pigeon before it went extinct. People thought "the passenger pigeon needs no protection. Wonderfully prolific, having the vast forests of the North as its breeding grounds, traveling hundreds of miles in search of food, it is here today and elsewhere tomorrow, and no ordinary destruction can lessen them."

There was nothing anyone could do to save the passenger pigeon. The last reliable sighting of a wild passenger pigeon was in 1900, in Ohio. The last passenger pigeon in captivity – Martha – died on September 1, 1914.

It may be possible to resurrect the passenger pigeon.

No one has taken on this challenging task.

#NaPoWriMo - day sixteen

someone is always listening
it’s always raining somewhere
 
every meal we ever shared
ended with us in bed or in tears
 
you always warned me
my sins would find me out
 
i never thought they were sins
i only wanted a place to call home
 
which is always a cliché
and always the truth
 
i’ve forgotten
every conversation we ever had
 
or rather, i don’t remember
every word we exchanged
 
i wasn’t always listening
and always filled with longing

#NaPoWriMo - day fifteen

i’m tired of winter / winter wonderlands / the dead of winter / winter blues / the winter of our discontent / the thin ice / snowball effects / the pure and driven snow / breaking the ice / tips of icebergs / being out in the cold / winter solstice / nuclear / or otherwise

#NaPoWriMo - day fourteen

today i saw a ghost bird
the flock’s murmuration
a wedge in the air
shadows echoing
flight path and dance
 
i could not stop to mark its path
headed as i was in the other direction
 
i hoped to see it again upon my return
but the sky was empty
the fields covered with snow
it began to rain
and the birds waited in the trees
 
in the silence
ghosts are everywhere
nighttime or daylight

#NaPoWriMo - day thirteen

I chose for myself
this course of action.
I have no other
to blame.
 
All this time I have
remained hidden.
I feel no need
to prove my existence.
 
Do you remember my face?
Do you remember my name?
 
You will not find me
in the public square.
You won’t notice me
at the corner table.
 
Who will tell the stories?
Who will sing the songs?
 
I have written everything down
and hidden the letter.
It will be my only confession.
You may never read it.
 
Someone is always watching.
Don’t tell me what you’ve seen.
Don’t tell me what you’ve heard.
Just tell me my name.

#NaPoWriMo - day twelve

We moved from home to home.
We met in living rooms and kitchens
and bedrooms. We shared
meals and drinks and spoke
of life to each other.
We celebrated and danced.
We gathered around the words
and parsed out the meaning.
We asked the difficult questions
and left room for difficult answers.
We did that for years.

But we moved to new cities, new jobs.
Made new friends. Stopped writing
perhaps, beds shared with new bodies,
tables covered with new dishes,
new promises made. I hope
each of you still finds reasons
to celebrate, reasons to dance.
Maybe sometimes you remember us
sitting together on the floor.
Listening to poems, songs, stories.
Quietly drinking tea, lightly
nibbling on finger food and dainties.

I still carry those moments with me.
They still feel like home.

#NaPoWriMo – day eleven

the stories were
contradictory
 
there were many
witnesses
 
rumours of war and
rumours of war
 
so many theories
to discuss
 
so many ways to frame
the days’ events
 
we were told to
write it down
 
we were told
never to tell
 
the news is
up next
 
this just in-
terruption
 
please stay
tuned

#NaPoWriMo – day ten

It was supposed to be a conversation
but all they did was talk. In the midst
of all that talking I stopped listening.
 
What happens when you stop listening?
 
What happens when you run out of patience?
 
What happens when there’s no conversation
to be had? The questions die on the page.
The air is filled with static. So we wait.
 
We wait for a moment to insert ourselves
into the story. We wait for a moment and
take time to listen and breathe and look
for answers. There are only questions,
and the questions hang in the air.
Like dust. Like fear. Like expectations.
 
What happens when you have only questions?
 
You try to make your way through the fog.
You make room at the table for conversation.
You try to find your way to the right words.

#NaPoWriMo – day nine

i brought you roses
but you did not like roses.
none. red, yellow, white…
 
i brought you lilies
but you did not like lilies.
too perfumey. like they’re hiding something.
 
i brought you orchids
but you did not like orchids.
so predatory (though beautiful).
 
i brought you tulips
but you did not like tulips.
always twisting towards the light.
 
i brought you birds of paradise
but you did not like birds of paradise.
it looks like a murder weapon.
 
i brought you chrysanthemums
but you did not like chrysanthemums.
too arty. paint one instead.
 
i brought you my hands.
you opened them like flowers
and left them. emptied.

 

#NaPoWriMo – day eight

that day you forgot

the most important thing

that day you forgot

a very important thing

that day you forgot

an important thing

that day you forgot

a somewhat important thing

that day you forgot

something important

that day you forgot

something somewhat important

that day you forgot

whether it was important

that day you forgot

what things were important

that day you forgot

why that thing was important

that day you forgot

the most important thing

that day you forgot

#NaPoWriMo – day seven

Tell me how you thought this would go.
We keep sitting down to make plans.
 
              can you create a song list, please?
 
The weather remains variable.
Spring still hasn’t arrived—it is a rumour only.
 
              i remember when it showed in august
 
There are so many things need repairing;
Somehow there’s always something missing.
 
              mockingbird, diamond ring, looking glass
 
There’s always one more thing.
Somehow there’s always more room.
 
              just add it to the list
 
We take so many trips to the mountains,
But the reasons are constantly different.
 
              you never climb the same mountain twice
 
I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
We will get there eventually, then rest.

#NaPoWriMo – day six

in the morning,
silence. and in the mourning,
silence. and then all the words
and what words
cannot say replaced
by touch. or maybe a meal.
or a drink with a friend.
 
and then how to be lonely,
or sad. or how to be,
or keep moving, working,
saying good morning, or
thank you. and it’s okay
to laugh again, or enjoy
another’s company.
 
we keep saying
we almost lost you and
we did almost lose you
but maybe we also found each other
in the speaking of loss
sitting next to each other,
skin frail and paper-thin.
 
we keep saying just get better
and “better” is a relative term
so we sit here together
in silence. we take turns
talking of the possibilities of loss
how it is a shadow in the room;
in every room, now.

#NaPoWriMo – day five

I wanted to write an “Easter poem.”
Something about resurrection.
 
I too often feel like a white-washed tomb.
Chiefest of sinners, me.
 
I too have found myself walking in a garden;
A single destination in mind.
 
I too have sat in stunned silence,
Shrouded in wonder, bathed in light.
 
I too have found myself in need of new words,
Another way speaking/ moving through the world.
 
I have had days of new beginnings
Emerging from the river with singing.
 
Fill my cup once more.
Remind me there is a thirst to slake.
 
Remind me that stones are worn away.
Remind of that each beautiful day.

#NaPoWriMo – day three

open the gates!

there is talk of processions

misplaced acclaim

what must be torn down

what must be built

*

all day i’ve been cleaning

house, yard, expectations

look at my hands

*

the path is never the same twice

nor the river

nor the trees

*

i will never trust you again

without exercising faith

there is talk of confessions

the power of names

*

the table is ready

everything just so

let’s keep things simple

talk of commandments

not of suffering

*

you should probably rest,

now

National Poetry Month 2026

Once again, National Poetry Month is almost here, and once again I will be attempting to write a poem per day.

In Canada the theme will be LAND & SEA. From their website:

"Mother Earth began with spirit — first water, then land — alive and sacred. To walk on the land and touch her waters is an act of respect and gratitude. Every stone, stream, mountain, and drop of water is a teacher; every breeze, a messenger. We are called to listen, honour, by giving thanks through acts with care. Speaking with water and land we acknowledge its life-sustaining gifts; carrying the lessons of the past into the future through ceremony.

This National Poetry Month, the League and NWIA invite poets and readers to explore their relationship with water and land — to write, reflect, and celebrate our shared responsibilities and the sacred bonds that sustain us all."

In the United States they are celebrating their 30th year of National Poetry Month.

I hope you will join me on this year's journey -- my 12th of original poems and 16th overall -- and let me know which poems you like (or don't), and why.

   

#NaHaiWriMo 2026 - the final batch

#NaHaiWriMo - Family

All that laughing
The way we take up space
All that weeping

#NaHaiWriMo - Soap

Look at my hands

How many ways are there

To get clean

#NaHaiWriMo - Pink

Shoes, dress, eyes, nose, mouth
Fingernails, eye shadow, jewel

Underwear, tongue, skin

#NaHaiWriMo - Teeth

Whenever they break

You feel it larger than life

All those small pieces

#NaHaiWriMo - Titanic

They tried to warn me
The idea of you is so large

I can’t contain it

#NaHaiWriMo - Witch

They said all the names.

Only some of them were secret.

Only some of them.

#NaHaiWriMo - X-ray

There’s no hiding.
We can see everything.

It doesn’t matter.

#NaHaiWriMo - Lace

We weave together.

Decorate empty space.

Your hands so nimble.

*

Here we find regret.

Here we find forgiveness.

Here we find beauty.

*

You took all the swords,

Transformed them into ploughshares.

Magic takes time.

#NaHaiWriMo - Last

Despite everything
We keep collecting days

A necklace of hope

#NaHaiWriMo 2026 - the second batch

#NaHaiWriMo - Concrete

Your words were empty
I couldn’t understand you

I lost my footing

*

How do I hold this
Everything turns to dust
Burning my hand

#NaHaiWriMo - Bottle

You hold me so tight

Let’s try to find the words

I hold you so tight

#NaHaiWriMo - Oblivious

I thought we agreed
Never to lie to each other
Now we sit in silence
Our bodies in tension

#NaHaiWriMo - Plant

I once called this home

The weather keeps changing

Rivers keep flowing

#NaHaiWriMo - Magnet

The heat of your body
I tried not to look at you
My hands so empty

*

The shock of being seen
It was inevitable
You whispered to me

#NaHaiWriMo - Watermelon

Watermelon kisses

I thought I knew what it meant

So sweet and delicious

*

Will you join the dance

Until we’re covered in sweat

Bodies twist through space

#NaHaiWriMo - Heart

The language too fraught
Too many metaphors
Here is my heart

#NaHaiWriMo - Daffodil

You don’t want to know

Hands full of fear, grief, confusion

How to move forward

#NaHaiWriMo - Toilet paper

Always underfoot
I could have treated you better

Extended more grace

#NaHaiWriMo - Mathematics

We made so much sense

Every touch mathematical

I can’t figure it out

*

We can’t stop watching

Violence plus violence

A game of loss

#NaHaiWriMo - Costume

Wear your words like skin
You can try new ones at night
Which will stretch, which shine

*

Here is an adventure
So many things to discover
Not only pleasure

#NaHaiWriMo - Pigeon

As you cross the square

A river of feathers

An explosion of air