WrinklesSome people fight them. Some people embrace them—proof of a life well-lived.Is this a poem about an old person reflecting on the changes that have taken place in his/her face over the course of a long lifetime, or is it a poem about a young person who is comfortable with the knowledge of what each smile is slowly creating?

Between SeasonsHere, the transition between fall and winter is slow and drawn out.Frosty mornings can be followed by warm days.Flurries can change into soft showers.Heavy rain can become hail.One night brings thunder and lightning, another howling winds.

At the BeachLooking out toward the ocean. In a reflective mood. Scooping up the sand. Letting it pour out through the spaces between my fingers. Feeling the presence of other things. Perhaps shells. Perhaps pebbles. Widening my fingers to let them pass. Feeling the years pile up. Questioning future possibilities. Is it too late?

rising and falling with each breathjoining me in the bath falling leavesall the blood spilled in your name chrysanthemumin the wind I hear the echo of my own sighcrumbs on a white plate these conversationss ✔️ graffiti on an exit sign

broken levee the pressure of a million little thingsfrom my window seat the sandbox becomes a small pondVenn diagram finding myself stuck in the middleeach car in the eyes of a crow a nutcrackerretirement dreams asleep on my feet in a crowded train

How quickly the days and weeks disappear. If it weren’t for these little poems and these weekly posts, what would I actually remember?It’s always surprising to me how much of each day just slips away. Where does it all go?