last night, as soft twilight
pressed down on me, i heard
the sad horn of the setting sun.
it wiped the days’ bronze mouth
and entered memory’s dark cave

where my face was woven like a
bamboo basket.   doused
in the shadow of your absence
winter and spring take turns
breaking my bones…

each night is like a ring with
pain squeezed within its circle
and love is a mirror, broken.
i wanted to write a poem of love and light.
i wanted to write a beautiful dream, i really did.

but life is always giving dreams a bad name.