I look for the signs
hidden in the hums
of mornings
under piles
of leaves wet
from overnight rain
I lay face down
in the afterglow
of the dawn
my ear pinned
to the ground
for hard-edged words
that could mean
something
or nothing
I find that
your winter is coming
but then again
it always is
—I mistaken the winter for summer
YOU ARE READING
an ocean of teardrops
PoetryI avoid surfaces with reflections, avoid facing reality. At the sea, where I last washed away my scars only to have them appear in different places, different faces. And so I try comforting myself through imaginary conversations with the people I lo...
