top of page


Ever Daggers

The fog I’ve seen is death, 

And in it, stillness 

Erupts the flow of breath 

That wakes the silence. 

To breathe it is hunger: 

A daunting feeling; 

Solitude or danger: 

Gestures concealing 

What truth should lie beyond. 

Vision now declined, 

Grey-and-white is the bond 

For nature’s refined. 

Fall 2022

bottom of page