Lotus

and—

time
(itsoveritsoveritsoveritsover)
stops.

there

are
tears
in
your
eyes,
mascara
smeared

The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.

Every Halloween, one house on your street stays dark; no lights, no candy, no decorations. The neighborhood kids whisper about it, daring each other to knock, but no one ever does.

i'm fine

i'm staring at nothing
thinking about everything
exhausted and hurt from the words that slipped off their tongues,
"you okay?" they ask without wanting to know the answer.

i wonder sometimes,
as i'm typing out message number five,
a paragraph pleading for an answer,
i wonder if they actually care

The moon hangs low tonight,

quiet as a thought not yet spoken.

Her light hovers over rooftops

and sifts through the cracks in curtains,

touching everything gently,