One With No Name Yet

Stone sculptures always look sad to me
Maybe because they’ve been frozen in time while others have moved on

You know I’ve always thought crows to be the harbinger of doom
As they circle above me,
maybe they sense something I continue to deny

When green leaves burst into flames
and their ashes are all that remain
of those fields we walked in the rain
and the paths we mapped in vain
How can I let light shine through soot
black as the inside of a coffin
when I know that if I open my eyes
sorrow will come in the end

The thing about silent conversations is that you never know when they think a full-stop while you are still at a comma
Not finished with them yet

Didn’t know you were gone till I was in the dark
Having slept holding hands, we woke up apart,
You still are that muse to my art that I refuse to acknowledge
The flood in my backyard behind the door I keep closed
Your name appears in the rough draft of the poems I write at night
Yet vanishes when the morning arrives

But if I make no sound,
maybe the day will pass me by
And I can continue to pretend
that my dreams are alive