Rolling Marbles

On a quiet street corner, boys roll marbles.

Nor heat nor dust can pause those sweet thuds

which resonate off the wall

till the shadows stretch long.

Cleaving

Err not these inks ere they vaporize.

My quill has raised the spirits that once were razed.

I write to be wise but you think me otherwise.

Eyes aged with rum, burn every page-

wonder what's stronger when this heart of mine bleeds.

Love that pours from your jar, seldom ajar

or tears that needle when you leave me in needs.