inhaleexhale

i inhale

dark 

thoughts

for compost. 

the bin is full

of hallow memories,

mocking energy 

spent--

the belief

that intention 

could manifest 

reality. 

i feel so small 

in this library 

of possibilities, 

within which i once 

found solace.

the longing

stained, 

like brain petroglyphs. 

i weep

for rivers

that will never taste

the sweet-salt 

of the sea. 

pain

is the last

few sips of tea 

at twilight--

pine-needles shimmering.