wph

Past the burning day, 

at bedtime when I shrug off sleep, 

when I've got school the next morning, and I shouldn't be here, 

He is waiting for his ride at the entrance of his office building. The automatic light near the lobby is broken, so the only light is far down the hallway. He leans against the brick wall.

When I look at mirrors, they don't break, but they bend and warp and fold in on themselves.

When I was very little, my Mom took me on a trip to Arizona. She was strong back then, a long-time hiker just like my dad was when the two still knew each other.

My mind trailed off on a summer day

Through the hot sappy forest,

Off the road until it met the sand.

I woke up in the golden sunny ocean,

And decided I might stay awhile.