"Dusk"

The town exhales—
a soft geometry of roofs and fields
folding into shadow.
He sits where the light
still lingers,
jacket creased like memory,
hands easy on the stone.

The church steeple leans
into the horizon’s stillness,
a single bird
drawn to the vanishing point.

No declarations.
Just the red of his collar
holding warmth
as the sky turns
from blue...

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Evening Benediction at the Tide

The tide returns in sculpted prayers

over broken shells,

etching covenant beneath gull-scarred skies.

I press my palm to driftwood—

a liturgy in grain, fibers carved by centuries

of salt and forgiveness.

Salt water heals old fractures in the stones,

and on their ancient skin I lay down my grief,

each wave a footnote of merc...

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Morning mist drapes each blossom  
like a bride reluctant to wake.  
Petals fall in silent confession—  
memory’s hush in every drift.  

Roots hold secrets of laughter and tears,  
a debt of seasons owed to shadows.  
Soon, steel will bite bark and bloom  
and these ghosts will scatter on the wind.  




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