words wither with the wind,
and i am done discussing
dreams and desires
at a distance.

i want to see you closer.
simple words will not do.
stroke after stroke, i want to
see you dive into that
very distance.

this conversation about your
aspirations is such a bore.
i’ve heard this before, like
an old husbands’ tale, like
an old wives’ lore.
i want to see drops of sweat
drip from the side of your face
and i want to see you leap
before they hit the floor.

we are beyond action plans
that just stand still.
i want to see something slip.
i want to see something spill.

no use making silly lists,
simple words will not do.
i want to see incantations
that turn your imaginations
into soaring a reality
against your skin.
given the chance
i would step in step
with your dance but
i want to see you spin
further into that
very distance.

i want to see you turn
page after page, i want to
see an unapologetic rage.
i want to see you climb
the mountains of your
thoughts. i want to see you
glide over rock after rock.
i want to see some wild
hunger in your eyes,
i want to see the chase.
i want to see you close
the gap. i want to see
you weave space into space.

no, no; no, no; no no no.
simple words will not do.
i want to see you on the
other side of your dreams.

even at that very distance –
even before those drops hit
the floor – i would
fall in love with you.


i reach my heights on days like these,
i wonder why on days like these.

perhaps fine wine and a dose of cheese?
but those won’t do on days like these.

i could strum a song, if you please,
i lose my voice on days like these.

when was it last i prayed on my knees?
and i do not still on days like these.

the look of joy and eyes that crease,
i miss your smile on days like these.

oh, the solace and ease of winter’s breeze,
my frozen heart softens on days like these.


raat badal gayi, din badal gaye kaise yuheen.
hum badal gaye, humraha badal gaye kaise yuheen.

kaise badal gaye woh khawb jo dekhe the,
manzilon ki chaha badal gayi kaise yuheen.

dekho kaise badal gayi kadmon ki rahatein,
chalte chalte saara sheher badal gaya kaise yuheen.

kaise? kaise yuheen?
bas, bas yuheen.


it might be unfair to say
that all that remains of the past
is memory.

unless you argue that
scars are a type of memory.
that the painting you painted
isn’t simply a painting, it
is also a memory
of you having painted it.

nearly everything then
is memory.

without these memories,
how do we even know
if the past ever happened?

what if every moment
is the start of time
with placed memories?

between broadview and castle frank

leafless trees sway slightly in the wind.
a single car, with the hazard on,
is parked on the shoulder of the highway.
the traffic is light but steady.
a patch of graffiti separates the road from the railroad.
a bird swims – no, it floats rather peacefully – in the water.
i want to ask it if what is good
for the goose is also good for the gander,
but it might be a duck.
a message on the path asks me to think!
a lone runner runs around the gravel track
around the baseball field, her hoodie pulled up.

there lies an entire world between broadview and castle frank.