Digging

And it felt like I was an archeologist
Though I was only digging
In front of the back-step
And the remains I uncovered
Were only boulders
And broken glass
And bits of broken concrete

Sometimes I would
Carefully brush back the dirt
To softly reveal a bit of a stone
So much like so many stones
Yet slightly different
Different enough to need a moment
and a gentle touch

Ode to a kettle

The water in the kettle
Is about to boil
And I know it
I've listened to the kettle
Many times
And it always sounds like this
Before it boils

All of this

All of this This horrible This fantastic This inbetween This is all mine All off this From wretched to wonderful This blasé day And that unfortunate afternoon That time the cat threw up in my bed And the time the moon shone just so You know how it sometimes does (When the clouds blow by and for a moment the universe is unfurled before you The breath of wind on your neck like the moon was trying to get fresh with you So soft Perhaps you'll let it) The time I waited with my brother for the sprinkling of snow to turn to a blizzard...and it did The glorious feeling of picking scab from knee That awful feeling like maybe I left the kettle on or maybe the party is a different day All those things are mine The agony of knowing you don't love me Mine But also mine, The start of our story glorious blossoming love Mine Past maybe But still mine