In Visible Ink

Phantoms
still haunt her skin,
whispering of the past—
shadows in blue, the ghosts of old
tattoos.

Lost Time

Birdsongs...
have I written
all night? From the bedroom,
no more calls, no more tears, only
silence.

Leper in the Third Pew

Should I
stand, cry "Unclean,"
let the lancets of grace
pierce my soul to drain this poison
away?

Not now;
head bowed, I dam contrition's tears
behind twitching eyelids.
People would talk,
you see.

Retiring the Colors

The stars
burn last, fifty supernovae
blazing with orange light,
fading to gray,
to night.