“More Than Scribbles” The pen does not speak— it holds its silence in a chamber, a reservoir where sentences float unformed, dark rivers stalled before the mouth of paper. Each droplet is a thought waiting for gravity’s compunction, a poem in liquid pause, its capillary compression held at the narrow...

Smoke curls along the alley,  and in the shifting haze  a mural dragon stares down,  its scales chipped,  yet the gaze still remains—  a watcher above the street.    A café door swings open,  voices spill into the night,  debating ethics over bitter coffee,  their words rising,  then breaking apart  like...

"farcical bloomery"   In the meadow of impossible mornings, the daisies exhale in a trumpet’s blush, petals fluttering like embarrassed fans as the air fills with laughter disguised as wind.   Rosehip hiccups, clouds of lavender smoke, their thorns rattling like spoons in a drawer. Lilies bow low,...

  "A Slow Turning"The stairs lengthen each season,though the house remains the same.Names slip from my tongue—like coins through a frayed pocket,clinking faintly in corridors I no longer patrol.I misplace mornings,folding them into afternoonsthat arrive already weary.The calendar stares back...

  Not the label sewn on the inside,  but the hands that passed it down—  Not the boots that walked first,  but how far they let you roam.   We measured riches  in treehouse kingdoms,  in second helpings,  in stories from...