The Present

Before Expiration

I couldn't put it away.
Not in the back pages of a journal.
Maybe I can tie it onto the tail of a balloon,
and send it floating into the sky.
Seal it into an envelope,
and send it far, far away.

It would still come back.
Return to sender, it would say,
stamped in severe, red ink.

Return to sender, it would say.
There was no mailing address to begin with.
How should I know where it's headed?

But I want to put it away,
lest I see it
dry and die,
the leftover dredges
of consumed tea in a cup,
bitter to the taste.

When the Past Comes A-Knocking

You are caught by surprise. I was more surprised by how I felt.

Free Filling

In the sameness
and smallness
of your eyes,
I see
the reflection of
everyone around us,
watching us
as we are about to speak.

Silence settles
and shushes
the murmurings in their minds.

Fearing the void
any idle tongue can fill,
I gather a handful of words,
and toss them into the air with a laugh.
They springkle
and tinkle
and drift to the floor.

Then the shimmer
and sentiment settle,
and all that is left
is the sound
of the shovel
scraping the ground.