all that is left for me

He can topple you
with his neon eyes,
wedge a space between
yourself and the lungs
that keep you breathing.
He can breach the fragile
eggshell fortress
you built
around your wilting wings.
But with a nod, a practiced smile
that gives but a sliver
of all he has,
he could pump those lungs
to healthy,
help you climb
those unseen walls
that crumble
when he disappears.

Now
she sleeps beneath
the gray stone marker,
no longer my child
but a child of winter sod.
The earth has nourished her bones,
and cradled her head
longer than I.
Within me,
a blank space lingers
like a dark night.
I am weary
of the emptiness.

Childless mother,
I grow tired
as I walk her hillside home,
offering up
a harvest of silk flowers.

I am tired
but rest comes
in its own time.

Seeking Diogenes

wandering
weak and weary
no respite
incessant inquiry
following each lead
sandals thin and flopping
robe threadbare and drooping
like hope ~
lamp raised high
ever onward I
seek Diogenes
to bring him home
assured
there is no honest man