Dusty Boots

my grandfather’s bones

are in the ground

still his dusty boots

wait patiently by the back door

longing to feel useful again

Tiny Tinted Windows

we are all voyeurs

in a world connected

by tiny tinted windows

social media scouts

looking for intel

concealed in shadows

never daring to simply whisper

“hello”

Ceiling Tiles

crisp white ceiling tiles look down on me

each fitting perfectly in their square

you can have your high and mighty

i’m happy living down here

The Shoe Box

our universe

is inside an old shoe box

— lid held on by a tiring rubber band —

on a dusty shelf in God’s attic

a long-forgotten collection

from His youth

Late Autumn Hike

crunching leaves echo

through the bleak abandoned woods

i watch my breath rise

December Gray

the December gray

covers us as a blanket

still we feel the chill

A Day’s Work

the cheerful wood thrush persistently pecks at the forest floor

pausing now and then to share a song

all in a day’s work

Old Photo Albums

Thumbing through old photo albums

I see monochrome ghosts in the prime of their lives

Smiling

Laughing

A gleam in their eyes

Soon to be memories in a dusty book

Letters Never Sent

Words never written

Letters never sent

Feelings never shared

Memories never missed

She laughed and turned away

Hiding welling eyes

Fingerprints

this vast slab of soiled pavement

collects the fingerprints of those who fall

and those who push themselves up