Fledglings leave the nest,
the nest is an egg, its
shell cracked open.

We tell our children stories
about the heat of the sun
& of melting wax.

They smile & watch us
slowly dissolve
inside our longings

to enter into the light
after we have taught them
to apply

the wax of lies
needed to hold
their lives together.

Facades are feathers
falling into the sea.
Daedalus invented images.

There is no story
if there is no picture
for the mind to see.

The truth is safe
inside the narrative
if we do not speak it.

There are stories
we don’t want
to tell our children.

How we perceive
ourselves is how
we deceive others.


Image credit:Rene Bernal

I have one book of poetry published in Tucson by Moon Pony Press in 2009 titled, The Certainty of Looking Elsewhere. My poetry has been published in numerous small presses including: Dark Horse, Gargoyle, 6ix, Tor House Newsletter, The Moth & Zocalo Magazine.