A Poppy in October

Is it death we fear, or the leaving before knowing love? Are there that many fields of students that go missing high up in the mountains, while following along some trail, waging war on themselves just to learn an answer: that loves’ greatest peak is where we allow ourselves to let go of the ones…

September for the Sycamores

    This morning the sycamores are peeling back their bark and revealing a dull white skin.  Above, their iron arms are stretched out with thousands of pallid green and scorched-tip leaves holding on. The foliage is still thick, and I can only see glimpses of the sun from the ground. Little by little, however,…

The Loving Honesty of Heartbreak (in 5 poems)

I won’t act like I know what love is or write so certainly of it.  I know I have, and do often think of it, but so far every grand epiphany reminds me how vast of a concept love is.  I can speak of heartbreak and the beautiful breaking down the parts of ourselves to…