The Crossing

In dreams
        I walk on water

Fingers outstretched
       To the edge of the world

For once, I emerge from the picture
       Frozen in yellows and reds

A tainted faith
       Leaves a stained-glass salvation

As trembling hands leave
       Cathedrals in their wake

Originally published in Spring 2013 issue of The Germ

Coliseum

Blood makes poor mortar

For man’s coliseum;

What a bleak existence

Bony, stretched thin

As the waxing moon.

How cheap is the infrastructure

Of more bricks, less straw.

Blink once, and

It is wiped off the face

Of the earth.

Published in Big River Poetry Review on August 25, 2012

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