I spend a thousand blinks on old memories.
Each taste like cocaine
broken teeth, pressing
truth against my cheek, a cold shock
like this one –
crying on the beach, sleeping in empty sea shells.
My mother eats her hands,
choking on emptiness,
on regret – I understand,
fireflies above my nose.
Bathing with my naked sisters,
collecting our shadows full
of sea water – and with a rush of the moon
a tip of years comes rushing back
and I choke, not on emptiness
but on regret, and I understand
it’s the same sun that passed away,
roasting flames with me on
Sunday; and what does He do?
Very nice, many private images here that work well in the open.