what has been lost

love remaining half-asked, with an exile's hunger, what have you lost? smoke never stops moving, alters nothing, and leaves irretrievably when exactly does time distill us down to fire? down to accumulated passion? at what point have we traded the marked directions of known constellations for the possible light of far, unseen stars? I carry … Continue reading what has been lost

what the day contains

brown drifts of coffee grounds, and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee finding rhythm with the tick-ticking of spring rain on new-green locust leaves the passing hours mold the morning into the firmer lines of day, tracing the flights of fugitive birds - red hawk, wren, house finch, crow, ubiquitous dust-winged sparrow shadows lazily skate … Continue reading what the day contains

the hours of you that remain

we say goodnight, then goodnight, and once more a goodnight of softening kisses - just as the dawn cracks the night I count the hours of you that remain to me, and tuck them about us - thin comfort against the coming light © Sarah Whiteley

out of time

we were, for a time, each other's clocks - the tick-ticking of our fingers apart, counting the breaths before between until - until 2 AM yearning strikes, hungry as bells on Sunday - and we unwind, reset, sweep the seconds from our faces, cheeks to shoulders for a minute how I swallowed every moment, even … Continue reading out of time


these things cannot yet be called memory - too fresh, too new, too aware of their own being to be relegated to the corners of ponderous afternoons how that spring you sprouted, sudden and furious in the sanctum of breast, winnowing tendrilled assurances around and about these willing ribs until my breath became as entangled … Continue reading 2.10.2015


I have counted out the days that do not contain you have lined them up like pebbles I might have pulled from the sand salty still and glinting gray as stones from the shore do I imagine they must remember the rushing kiss of tides just as I remember how the brush of you once … Continue reading pebbles

sweeping up

so many of the places where we were are gone as if an unseen hand were sweeping up after us after closing after the late shadows have pushed the last shreds of day into quiet evening even then there were crickets and smells of coffee shops and wisteria that dripped its scent like soft voices … Continue reading sweeping up