Life With Horace

poetry & essays


sans bliss

we were long split atoms
even then the possibility of us
had ricocheted away
competing thoughts a white sound mask
too young I flung my stole of certainty
over each shoulder wrong headed
ignorant of the deeper dance
of lust and heart that left
to visit other lives
tantalizing milkweed silk
a fluted thrush note
fading every time I would
have ventured back

for S