Hunger Bay

A food strike
won’t bring back
the words he lost

in mystery’s high
tide. Non-verbal
communication is

an art she hopes
to learn before nothing
washes ashore.

On Clemens Road Again

Who offers
an app for saying
good-bye without
uttering a sound? Secrets

are sometimes so loud
she doesn’t pay
attention. Misses
the easy

ones. She understands
the hardened silence too well.

Clemens Road

I get lost
on my walk
to see you
in your lost

state. Boiled down
to a translucent film
at the bottom
of a pot, what’s left

will be our eyes
and our hands. They speak
a language
of truth.

Knock Three Times

A case of grinding
teeth as if
to shout out:

“I’m still alive!”

A strained ankle
for no reason—could be
misspelled. Those whispers

could mean it’s time to play

dead or to move
farther down river
before the quiet descends again.

Yesterday’s Treasure

If I concentrate
on the color
I might wear
out tomorrow, I could forget

my father is
a hoarder. Even now, tubes
of ChapStick (without
microphones), rolls

of toilet paper, stacks
of Hershey bars (dark
chocolate without
nuts) surround him.

Whoever stole his stash
of words
isn’t talking.