The heavens mapped? The spent mind
of a wanderer mapped back upon his silent sky

She’s gone now, probably
completed her transformation
into pure crust

Priests talk about the end of time—
how all this will burn.

But sometimes, time
strikes a deal with the living

It’s true: my dearest friend did not die
when I was in España

I write to you, for the first time,
after the year’s long ache.

The back door was my savior, leading me
To jade insertions of a picket fence

It came first to the waters. The shores thicken, nothing like life.

When diverse colours in a forest blend
the greens like olive emerald lime & jade

When our fathers
approached your
holy Mountain,
brushing a blade
of grass meant death.