the good news is,
rubes or not,
the floor has been swept
with my meager
scrabbilities.
yet in the moonlit shadow
of my third defeat,
this evil little tree gnome
finds solace with another
among the treetops.
our departure arrived,
binding my weakened tongue.
those expressions left unsaid,
while rendered with lips,
are utterly wordless.
when the butterflies finally
mortgage my stomach
this old fool will reel,
wanting the unavailable,
feeling alive.
our paths have crossed
for a time and depth
as of yet undetermined.
connections are life–
I couldn’t be happier.