I went to bed with the black dog
in the crook of my knees
Rhymes of an Hour on repeat
strums the pace of my brain
Hope’s voice scrapes
crypts of emotion
too crumbled to hold.

​

When I was a child, there was
a sinkhole in our backyard
we filled with dead leaves
until it swallowed the creek
my baby sister, the flowers
blooming in our field.
Only its wanting prevailed.

​

Tonight I want hope
to drug me, to lull me
into the black of all
that’s dying sweet
as it ripens tomorrow.