Sometimes the tempo
is adagio,
and everything sways
like a dirge.
The kelp heaves
towards shore
on slow waves
then drains back out.
The world
clicks the beats
of a funeral march
for me
when I forget
the time.

#NaPoWriMo, Day 22.


We both ache,
the brushes and I.
I don’t know how long
they will hibernate
in their plastic bin,
when they will next
drink ink.
I wish
I could tell them.
We wait and watch
for each other’s

#NaPoWriMo, Day 19