Brink

More than enough

is what I keep

getting (and why

and why me?

that snowy line

of thought persists)

by late morning

the already-risen moon

brimming

with its quiet light,

then an entire day

(the urge

to list the happenings,

for whom?)

and then the velvet

star-stamped

darkness falling,

saturating

all the things

that are and aren’t

(and which of those

I happen to be

I also get to ask).

Source: Poetry (September 2025)