Often my dreams spark a poem. In this case, a being presented himself in my dream. I asked who he was and he said he was ‘a relic of an angel’. A relic is all that is left of something or the bones of a...

Somewhere on Northwest 21st when browsing was breathable without a mask I hid behind marigolds and ivy shielding my body from the frame my serendipitous smile as the camera clicked shadowed my body shame that girl on NW 21st walked up and down that stoop unconscious to the knowing this girl would EVER change her lens Now my serendipitous smile is all I see...