Three Degrees

My feet draw the warmth in
like a Dementor,
exchange the sultry
lift of baseboards’ radiant dance –
all excitation and castanet crack –
for the clap of a snapping
branch that shatters
around expansion of its own frozen sap.

They’re cold like the color
of the sea at the darkest
anglerfish depths,
absolute black, like the most
vacant spaces between
stardust motes as they sail
away from each other
in the clearest obsidian waste.

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How Big Can a Boggart Be?

Spacious as a swallowing swell of sea
and me unanchored at its center,

engulfing as untethered vacuum, sling
of a tumble into black and out of orbit,

vast as an eroding hole
devouring homes, trees, streets from beneath,

expansive as words unwritten,
sentiments unpenned,

monumental as a question,
as the unfolding goliath What if?

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Keeper

The pitch’s last defense
wafts like a wallflower, scarlet and gold
lobe-wings waving, a woody,
sturdy sail before the tall trio of hoops.

Apart from surf, from soil,
from skirmishes and scraps,
he sweeps the bounds, the brink,
in a lonesome wait of a six-month seek.

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