A contemporary poem about the space between breaths, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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Do not call it silence. Silence has no body between us. This is the space where the next breath decides whether to become speech. I wait without making a monument of waiting. Your inhale reaches me first. The rest is still crossing.
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A crossing-at-night poem about moving when the signal changes and choosing action over waiting.
A platform-side poem about a last train, a softened ticket and the light of other lives moving beyond reach.
A late-night road poem about taking the wrong exit, leaving an old stopping place behind and continuing without a map.
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