Marbles—and a Little Bit of Dirt

He became a doll
she left in the rain.
The way his lips
and brows faded, his eyes

continuing to stare
at the cleared morning sky,
or her when she stood
over him. She didn’t care.

And now when she does,
it’s too late. He won’t smile—
they’ll never kiss again.

Prized Pupil

You never saw my city—didn’t get arrested
for something we might have—

what’s done is done to be
without regret as I place blue

poppies on stone. It’s the same
latitude as where you were born

where you rest now
where I live out these days

as an almost fugitive. No more
eyes on this one—invisible and lifelong.

Dog Ear

I am a page torn
but not easily removed
from the journal
you didn’t keep. I’m 

a face in the crowd
you can’t look at
but recognize
with your eyes closed. I’m 

the book you bought, thought
you’d devour, never read. 

I’m the last word
you wish to utter.
I’m that regret.

Weathering Rock

To fall down
the rabbit hole 

of regret is
to roll in Georgia red
clay mud without 

remembering
it was once dirt.
It will be 

again. To sidestep
and walk quickly by
is to begin to accept 

rain without pretending
you can predict the depth 

of its source.