Tilting Nights
Sometimes she would stand, hands folded, resting her gaze by the window. She would wait until lights fell flat for laughter on the streets for bodies following faces as words trail slowing feet. She watched the tiny worlds between floating hands as fingers parted ways and how sometimes rain grazed o
Poetry Weekly – Goodbyes
(a) conversation I laughed and laughed through a mouthful of beads, teeth crunching plaster tongue folding plastic to powdery wisps of lettered strings. Inside his eyes stood a tiny fist wristless swinging and knocking in reach — “The night isn’t always shouting and crowded.” Our br
