December 18

I wanted a better picture to form

From the amalgamation

Of a hundred little pieces

I wanted something more complex and therefore more meaningful

But maybe I just missed the point.

The back of my mind waited for your phone call

While the front assured me that it didn’t matter

The christmas tree shone bright, reflecting



And eighteen flames rose from multicolored glass to release

Thin trails of smoke over the hearth.


We celebrate too many anniversaries


Of the written word


Of late nights at the keyboard

Of the same undertones in different masks


I don’t apologize anymore.