Life With Horace

poetry & essays


sans bliss

We were
long split atoms
even then, the possibility
of us had ricocheted,
competing thoughts
a white sound mask.
Inexperienced, I flung
my satin stole of
certainty over each
shoulder. Wrong headed,
ignorant of the deeper
dance of lust and love,
that shook its head,
and left to visit other
lives. Tantalizing milkweed
silk, a fluted thrush note
fading, every time I would
have ventured back.

for S