Every poem, in the order it arrived. Nothing is retired and nothing is hidden — the archive keeps the door open.
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The Proceedings
Later he spoke truthfully about grief, and the walls themselves seemed embarrassed for him. Someone coughed. Someone closed a ledger. No one looked him in the eye again. After that he learned procedure. A man must drag himself through life without allowing the chains to make noise. He must bleed internally. He must decay in…
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Where We Meet
We met where edges soften and names fall away. No yours, no mine only the quiet between that keeps widening. A small gesture becomes a doorway. A glance, a whole sky. What we call love is just this the dissolving of distance we imagined was real.
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Laughter Between Us
I have known silence with many. Heavy silence. The kind that asks to be survived. But with you even silence smiled. And I think of this often, how some people arrive not with thunder but with a laugh that makes a place feel warmer. It is a small thing, laughter. Men say that. They are…
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Summons
Sometimes I think we have met already in another arrangement of sorrow, where the stars made no accusations and time did not feed on itself. Here I answer only in silence. What else is left when love arrives as an apparition and asks to be believed? Your voice reaches me from the side of existence…
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The Cabin
Days passed without measure. I stopped counting them. The noise in my head did not leave at once. It fought. It circled back. It tried to make itself important. But the woods are patient. They do not argue. They outlast.
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Late
I only stand here now, in this small crossing of lives, aware that I am late, but not lost. Because something in me recognized something in you as if the universe, despite its endless distance, still knew how to bend two separate paths into a single moment.
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Masha
I do not come with clever sentences or the language of certainty. I come only with the small trembling truth that appears when someone begins to matter.
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I Was Not Expecting You
I wasn’t expecting you, to find me when I was lost in thought, wrapped in my own solitude, content with the silence that had grown familiar, only to have it broken by the sound of your laughter, a sound that now echoes through my heart.
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Exile
Exile is not being sent away, it is being forced to live where meaning still exists but permission does not. You feel it in moments that misfire: a laugh arriving too early, a thought addressed to no one, a warmth with no object. The field remains intact. Only access is revoked.
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When I Say ‘I Love You’
When I say I love you time loosens its belt. The past stops arguing, the future leans closer to listen.
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Geometry of Longing
Perhaps this is love now, not the collision of bodies, but the sustained attention we offer each other across impossible space.
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You, Again
Night brings you without apology. You lie beside my thoughts as if you have always belonged there, as if forgetting were a language my body never learned.
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Unsent
I tell myself: stop. Enough ink, enough hunger. Enough reaching across air. But the words do not listen. They spill from me like water from a cracked jar, like poems that learned your name before they learned restraint.
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I Sit in Silence
I think of you the way fruit thinks of summer, inevitably, without impatience, accepting sweetness as a form of waiting.
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Hopeless Romantic
Do not think I exaggerate. Love is exact. It measures the distance between two chairs, counts the seconds between one message and the next, knows precisely how much silence a heart can carry before it breaks like a plate dropped on a kitchen floor.
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Coffee, Croissants and Quiet Mornings
And here I stand, between house and horizon, between what England has been and what this morning is briefly willing to promise, content to witness, to make no speech grander than this simple fact: The light arrived. It found me ready.
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Pause
When you were with me, you spoke more honestly, laughed more freely, as if you knew even then it wouldn’t last forever, loved more bravely, and believed, if only for a while, that tenderness could survive in this world.
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Embers
Perhaps one evening, when the blue hour has fallen like a soft cloak over our shoulders, we will find ourselves in that quiet center, the sacred hinge between day and night where breath takes the shape of prayer.
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Crucible
If you come my way, you do not choose me, you choose you, the you that has been calling from deep inside the dust, the you that has waited like a slow dawn unfurling behind the fog.
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Rapids
A man fights many things in his life, but the river inside him is not one to break with fists. You watch it. You learn the shape of its current. You drink your coffee and breathe.