Ocala

Senseless faith

as the sun dips

and I think of whether

you are above me

or still under the ground.

Growth in Dust of War

Winter is a war;
frozen,
consuming.

We break from a false skin
and grow;
new leaves,
any-how.

Spring is not our last chance.

Our last battle,
Our last song,
Our last riddles,
are only waiting for the winter to arrive.