there’s as much truth
as we want in this,
stone-carved stories
bloodied bark and
tearooms, lives
we talk about living.


They sit and spin the world
pattern by pattern, threading lives
together while we desperately pull
ourselves away; how much
is already written for us?

“Ash Names”

I sketched names in the ashes
of old words and older feelings,
tasting lives; how many had walked
streets like these, in days like these,
dancing in doorways to hide from rain,
or climbing over infinite mountains
in dreary seaside alleyways, when
they’d never dare to see the summit.
All ash, pre-built and pre-burnt,
with endings already written.