father
in another place, where I cannot go
except maybe in dreams
whose  misty  edges
pull at my heart
who, in turn, begs me not to wake
not yet
so that it can stay
where my father is
my father and my heart, together while I sleep

silver

like silver petals
blooming bullets burst into 
our hearts

because you asked me

if i were a star 
of the southern hemisphere
would you recognize my afterglow?

i am troubled but i am whole
still there are limits
to what i can offer you

to the silver petals
that wait to bloom

there are limits 
to what i can offer you

flowers frozen beneath old pages
of a childhood book, a memory
crumbles at the touch of air and light
from which it hid

pressed for time
ink splashes off the wake
of memoir stains
the author's trace, jagged
like silver blades across the page