It’s been a while.
This is a reclamation of the poetic,
the kind that starts with a 
single journal entry, a single page,
a whisper of a thought that says:
"What if I started again?"

I forgot I left the lights on here.
A typography change, colors dim,
waiting for a story to unfold.

To the 21 of you who stayed,
thank you for holding the silence
while I became a different kind of writer.
I write slower now.
Softer, maybe.
But deeper, too.

There will be poems here.
And haiku, of course:
about moonlight and heartbreak
and ironing during hot flashes.
About squirrels and memory
and mending the soul stitch by stitch.

We’re dreaming again.
with eyes open and breath held,
perhaps a knowing smirk tugs at lip corners,
a bit mischievious, much wiser now,
waiting for a dream to unfurl
in this indigo and gold world
that a midnight muse reclaims.

Haiku for the Return:

unquiet silence
a dream I forgot I left
waited in bold type