Night dancer


Mayflies track false moons
flying sideways and over
one another to catch sight
of language written in
bright lines
spoken to them
in night lies.
The mayfly is papery
floating outward
and down
able to catch only
a moment airside
before gliding under.
Mayflies fall always for light
in a candle or a lantern
believing this to be
their guiding source,
a thunderous ache
for revival, but
things are different
now that ever street corner
has a stoplight
and every home
a well lit number.

Poem 60 Revised

…more substance.
comes across
quite like arms
around an epiphany.
I worry
that sorry
uttered tardy
was never enough.
our ether
etched star-ward
blurred bright through
palm proof of happiness.
less than
a fairytale ending.
I regret nothing—
Only wish there had been…

Poem 72

a little bitter i’m still taking tests to prove my knowledge; bitter still i might not ace them.


In the adolescence of exam week; no tests for days.
Shopping for horror films on a borrowed Netflix
and for what; so I can sit here and pretend we all
didn’t just fail that Spanish exam. maybe it was
only me…

muttering puttering stuttering. hiccups on paper
would look like the innocent curls of a thrice erased answer
wisps of changing enlightenment. We forgive hiccups, but ignorance,
well, that’s why we take languages now isn’t it. I can sit

here and pretend I didn’t pick fights about it all summer
and assure myself it’ll be a beauty mark of a grade. We
can lie through the cavities in our caffeine colored teeth
about how poorly our GPA will look come Friday;

but maybe that’s the point: a borrowed language, a borrowed
account, a borrowed plot line to see till the end; I suppose I’ll see you there.

Poem 72 RevisedPoem 72 Edited