Scribed
-------
He was all tattoo,
all surface and cut blood.
Still.Calm.Clear -
a sky of ink
that wrote itself
night emptied -
a desert
that once wore oceans
of blame.
Two dimensions stretched
around three,
eyes drew fiction, pushed
question marks through palms
pressed to old cold wood
and every answer hammered
across the grain,
avoiding splinters
and conscious regard.
So focused there,
he would not look away
or
reach far enough
into a depth.
Unfinished Tree
---------------
Limbless we reach,
charmed by the texture
of innocent hands.
Fingers upright,
in Autumn we long
to stretch, to taste
some sky before
it falls.
In that seasonal
light, neither
carried on air
nor buried by the eyes
of our last light
leaving,
we cast a line
between these halves,
of was and will be.
By a shadowed sundial,
we dare November's
song, to bleed at us
no longer-
we are almost
done.
untethered tension
------------------
the string
knew nothing
of the kite,
of hands
that scratched
a sky-
full of breeze.
held tight
between
her dreams
and clay,
now done-
the shape of
belonging
has folded
him away.
THREE DOWN MOSTLY - STILL EDITING - BACK LATER
Honorable winner
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