Pa Dyab-la (mè mwen konnèt li byen)

Klòch sonm té ka sonnen an laplas vil-la.
Pa Dyab-la, mé mwen konnèt li byen.
Mwen té ka maché asou gwan lawi-a bò koté’y kon on ti-manmay ki pa konnèt anyen, té tounen koté i ka dòmi-an.
Toujou tounanté pa an kuryozité ki pa ni bout, pa kaché pyès detay ban mwen.
Klòch sonm té ka sonnen tout apwémidi-a, mé ou mantjé yo.
Twòp fon adan pè lavi-a pou ou té sa wè sa,
Twòp bizi ka kalkilé mannyè pou lévé drapo wézistans.
On ti-not pèsonèl sòti koté édito politik-la <mété magazin gwòch radikal>, nou tèlman dézolè nou pa sa piblyé sa kwiyé-ou pou wévolisyonè-an.
Sa pa fè anyen, lè jounal litérè-a ka mandé pou tout sé powèm mwen-an ki pi cho-a.
Klòch sonm ka kontinyé sonnen chak lè apwézan.
Mwen kouché, épi dé-twa wégrè an lanmen mwen, nan mitan lanmè-a,
Kenbé anlè pa on lanmou ki pa ka kanyen, on gwan twézò mwen chéri nan gwan kalm sa-a ki pa ni bout.

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Matrimony

Twelve years of love
unyielding
being with you is
laying down my armor
being with you is
freedom
to fail or thrive or
bare my soul completely
being with you is
being known with a single glance
being with you is
basking in the first rays of summer
sitting in the ache of growth
you are earth
to my sky
the warmth of home
refuge from the chaos of the world
twelve years and counting
waking up
enveloped in your embrace
eight spent
as your husband
wouldn’t have it
any other way

Like Rain

I can’t live in your daydreams
there are still half-read books and half-drunk cups of coffee lingering on my shelves
unedited manuscripts begging for attention under piles of mail I promised I would open
research ideas that haven’t quite been fleshed out enough
I can’t subsist on praise and sacrifice alone
Need the warm sun, a cool breeze, and an ocean view to nourish my aching soul
I can’t live in your daydreams but I can be a featured player in your fantasies
Call on me when the well runs dry
I’ll be there to flood your fields

35

(South Lake Tahoe, CA – June 2025)

older now
but no guarantees
of growing any wiser
less garrulous, much colder now
with no respite on the horizon

burn my love letters for warmth
those words were soft and hollow
basking nude in the sunlight
gin-soaked sweat flowing from my brow

the vultures feast on me like carrion
licking my bones, until the flesh is gone
yet each bite makes me feel alive
never thought I’d get to 35