April 2022 – A Writer In The Room

House

I saw an empty house
across the street
it lay abandoned and bare
shimmering in the summer heat

The morning does not break
until you stir from sleep
and the sun awakes in my lap
glowing in the room

In the distance
where dusk settles
dark whispers in the trees
come softly, oh traveler

Stardust strews
from the cosmos
paints our skin
with nebulae

She put her happiness
in an ornamental casket
it lies along with the pearls
too small to fit into a basket

If heaven allowed a return service
to the postcards from the dead
perhaps I would write to you
and ask you “what does afterlife feel like?”

Half a portrait
I feel like a profile
only half an idenity
without a smile

The Catcher in The Rye follows the story of seventeen year old Holden Caulfield after he is expelled from Pencey prep school.

When I was a child
I was told when an infant
sleeps with his palms clutched
that’s how the lines form
on fragile skin

Empty hands
under a blue moon
the night lends its sorrow
to a soulful tune

I walk in an in-between
a space between the cloud
on a fine spiderweb
glinting in the horizon