Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

I’ve fiddled with this poem for a while…it’s written after Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” from the perspective of the horse. Of course, it ended up including the perspectives of many more. I’m curious to know what it evokes in you. :)

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

Now that you’re asleep, can you hear me? - Edits

Now that you’re asleep, can you hear me? - Revised

after Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” 
 
How many moons ago did we stop 
by the woods that winter night? 
For legs like woods, it wasn’t so strange  
to run & feel & stop at the same time: 
Among the dead & white, you 
smelled of lilies, then, but didn’t hear 
me. You only heard my bells 
ringing before your words galloped  
across snowy landscapes, saw in two directions at once,  
felt without speaking. I tried to be your heart,  
your poetry: Running rhythmically, never ‘broken’  
by the pain of memory. Did I lose you,  
or after all those unbroken miles, did you lose me? 

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• A new dispatch, from Plzeň, Czechia. :)

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 4.

• A short story in Issue #18 of Free State Review, here!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

Last week, I lost a very dear friend. Although today’s poem isn’t about him, it fits what I’ve been feeling. I didn’t edit it too much. Maybe that’s grief. But I do find it interesting that the biggest edit was the title…

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

Graveyard Fence - Edits

Graveyard Fence - Revised

After you left, I ran.
Ran the same circles 
as the hawks & vultures, waiting, 
watching their watching.  
I’d forgotten how to shower 
alone. Weeks of running 
beneath those black wings: I hoped, 
maybe they’d smell you, mistakenly
(take me too). Now, please,  

tell me what to do. 

I can only run in the rain  

to live the illusion of running 
away. Except I always end up back  
where I started. Empty, a little less 
angry, more ready to remember 
anything at all.

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• A new dispatch, from Plzeň, Czechia. :)

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 4.

• A short story in Issue #18 of Free State Review, here!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

I wrote today’s poem after watching a lecture on sand (which I’ve long been fascinated by). It started as a prose poem & became something very different… For this reason, I didn’t show my edits but included the two poems side-by-side. Curious to read any thoughts!

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

As the world runs out of sand - Edits

As the world runs out of sand - Revised

after Jenifer Follman’s “Never Let Me Go” & Nehal El-Hadi's The Poetics, Politics, and Paradoxes of Sand 

I return to shore, so clean my ghost 
cannot be seen...bones and flesh long 
salted, tasted, food for flat sole. 

I step across our stone beach, that short cliff worn 
to sand bar, as quiet and invisible as glass...what ocean 
beds become by human hands. What a world, 
a grief, running out of sand. 

All I retain, dear, is clear 
adhesive...sweat, saliva, semen... 
to which sand sticks, too softly, as if the memory of love 
only carries on by what succeeds it, what can’t be 
seen of its efforts. Ashore, my love, 

we, the dead, gather sand...supposed infinity 
just to be seen, just to be shaped 
by these seeds of windows. It’s impossible, 
we know, to see our reflection, to reflect in return. 

The city still grows for you, leaves waterless wakes 
of disappeared shores. What remains finds what’s left 
of me to sand down your heartbreak. And for what happens 
next, the dead are the only forgiven. 

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• A new dispatch, from Plzeň, Czechia. :)

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 4.

• A short story in Issue #18 of Free State Review, here!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Wednesdays from 7:30-8:30 pm ET! Would love to see you there.

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

I wrote today’s poem in response to Rattle’s ekphrastic challenge in July 2025. Gerry Traicoff’s “The Cartomancer’s Table” made me think of this Jeff Buckley quote:

“Apparently, orgasm is the only point where your mind becomes completely empty—you think of nothing for that second. That’s why it’s so compelling—it’s a tiny taste of death. Your mind is void—you have nothing in your head save white light.”

In conjunction, la petite mort (English: the little death) is a French expression/idiom that is modernly used to refer to post-orgasm sensations, often likened to death. I’m always surprised by what threads ekphrasis braids together.

I’d say this poem is still in progress, but months later, I find it interesting where I made edits/didn’t (even after the screenshot below).

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

There’s A Room I Imagine After Little Death - Revised

There’s A Room I Imagine After Little Death

after Gerry Traicoff’s “The Cartomancer’s Table”  

I’ve emptied to be filled. It’s dark. A wooden desk is ready. The thesaurus is always bigger than the dictionary, stacked on top. The calf-thick candle isn’t lit. The tea isn’t poured, gone cold because a bloodstone hangs above it like a tea bag. I can’t see where the chain is attached. The teacup is upside down on its saucer, keeping clean, dust-free, waiting like a table for dolls. The oracle cards are already spread, but I can never read them. The lamps are lit, flowering open like milky fallopian tubes on fire. I open my eyes wider or close them tighter to be in the room better, but I can’t. My clothes aren’t here, and the rain is still frozen in my hair. I tripped on the sidewalk crack shaped like Cupid’s arrow on my walk home from the market. The almonds sprayed hard and loud on the ground like wooden tears. The cherries are intact. Open wider or close tighter, I think, as you make me kiss my face in the foyer mirror. Not real. Never real. You turn to ash inside me. The lamps always turn on as I shiver you out. This room, I’ve imagined, is not yours. 

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 4.

• A short story in Issue #18 of Free State Review, here!

• A new basketball dispatch, here. :)

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Wednesdays from 7:30-8:30 pm ET! Would love to see you there.

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

I’ve returned to this poem because it feels timely—personally, and of course, beyond. I’m curious why it’s one I didn’t revise as much upon returning to it. Maybe it does need revision, but I’m not ready to see it yet.

Is there a pattern to the poems you return to, but don’t end up revising?

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

Before the Haunting - Edits

Before the Haunting - Revised

I have sung “Feed the Birds”  
in the shower while someone died. I have  
believed nature & nurture, accidentally,  
to be opposites. Like fruit & water.  
Do we not give birth  
to one another, always?  
  
There was a bluebird  
on the eavestrough,  
watching the waking  
bluffs, singing. Later, 
  
hundreds of crows  
circled the air, black  
like rain that could not fall,  
could not wet burning wood, or had  
forgotten how to eat 
the dead. Dying begins  
  
& we always know. Too much  
keeps waiting with a patience  
only birds understand. What devastation 
  
to be kept from knowing  
what is coming: someone laughs  
while we weep, sings  
while we bleed; it is fall & not  
everything wakes again. 

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 4.

• A short story in Issue #18 of Free State Review, here!

• A new basketball dispatch, here. :)

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Wednesdays from 7:30-8:30 pm ET! Would love to see you there.

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

I’m hesitant to say too much about this poem—it’s about many things, all under the umbrella of the word ‘dilation.’ I’m curious what you think, or what it sparks for you, even if the subject matter isn’t an experience you’ve had or thought about.

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

Dilation - Edits

Dilation - Revised

I stood in the bathroom, light  
dimmer all the way down, playing  
hide & seek in the mirror. My face,   
10 cm from itself, watched  
my pupils dilate, close, dilate,   
close. I tried to open my hands   
faster, to witness the dark  
holes as dilated as could be  
seen. They always closed
again. I could see them closing inside   
milky brown fog, protecting the holes   
like an infant’s soft spot. I didn’t look down  
when what always comes came:  
those monthly knife twists leaving 
claw marks instead of punctures.   
I slid the light switch down   
& turned as fast as I could   
to the mirror. The little turtle   
night light clicked on   
by itself, motion-activated, bright yellow  
in its laughing mouth. Another black hole. 

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• A short story in Issue #18 of Free State Review, here!

• A new basketball dispatch, here. :)

• Our newest issue of The 44 North is here, filled with writing, reading, and editing that I very much enjoyed.

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 3. Part 4 is coming this Friday!

• Lamplight’s newest issue is here, featuring story-focused essays, an interview, and a book review by + with care providers across law, coaching, psychotherapy, peer support, and communications leadership. Through the unwavering support of Unsinkable, I’m beyond grateful for the support I’ve been offered to design, curate, write, and edit this small but mighty magazine.

• An essay & poem on craft in basketball & poetry, featuring CWC & some of my favourite writers!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Tuesdays from 2-3 pm ET! Would love to see you there.

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

I wrote this poem when I had no words, and thus, I think it turned into an experiment in juxtaposition & compression. But I like both versions here for different reasons. Do let me know what you think?

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

We keep the space between - Edits

We keep the space between - Revised

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• A new basketball dispatch, here. :)

• Our newest issue of The 44 North is here, filled with writing, reading, and editing that I very much enjoyed.

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 3!

• Lamplight’s newest issue is here, featuring story-focused essays, an interview, and a book review by + with care providers across law, coaching, psychotherapy, peer support, and communications leadership. Through the unwavering support of Unsinkable, I’m beyond grateful for the support I’ve been offered to design, curate, write, and edit this small but mighty magazine.

• An essay & poem on craft in basketball & poetry, featuring CWC & some of my favourite writers!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Tuesdays from 2-3 pm ET! Would love to see you there.

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

Taking a short break from the basketball poems. :)

I’m curious how this one lands for everyone? I also wish to note the implied subject matter of this one—please take care as you read.

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

Life & Death in Ikea / Paintings - Edits

Life & Death in Ikea / Paintings - Revised

“Darling, do you see those pomegranates, spilling?” 
“I see moths—” 
“Splitting the canvas, yes. Which wanted more than the other, do you suppose?” 
“Beautiful palette. One colour. Stuck, still—” 
“Encased in sweet amber porchlight, yes. Your battery level is low, love. On 
the headphones. Blinking red like you are 
being sprayed and cleaned with juice. Charming, really.” 
“They’re dying. Need to be—” 
“Plugged into your portable socket, you mean? Allow me.” 
“Right. That’s what they’ve always wanted.”

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• Our newest issue of The 44 North is here, filled with writing, reading, and editing that I very much enjoyed.

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 3!

• Lamplight’s newest issue is here, featuring story-focused essays, an interview, and a book review by + with care providers across law, coaching, psychotherapy, peer support, and communications leadership. Through the unwavering support of Unsinkable, I’m beyond grateful for the support I’ve been offered to design, curate, write, and edit this small but mighty magazine.

• My next basketball dispatch, honouring one of my closest friends who is also a former coach.

• An essay & poem on craft in basketball & poetry, featuring CWC & some of my favourite writers!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Tuesdays from 2-3 pm ET! Would love to see you there.

Dear friends 🍂 🍁 🪶

I hope you’re as safe & well as you can be. 🧡

This week’s poem is again about basketball, and one I’ve spent a lot of time with, the way we might question with the memory of a lover. This basketball-as-ex analogy fascinates me. I hope you enjoy!

Also, I’m posting this a bit differently, as a hidden “section.” Hopefully, this is helpful for those of you who’d prefer not to receive it as an email!

Thank you so much, as always. Please take care of yourselves (as well as you’re able). ❤️‍🩹

With love & gratitude,

Mik

Letter to my ex - Edits

Letter to my ex - Revised

	after basketball
 
Oh Dear,  
 
I’ve held the other hands you’re in 
now, gripped, fingered by scarred  
 
skin...thrown, pushed, bounced,  
blown up too hard...I’m good at late games 

& long nights, having once been good 
at long threes...I lack the strength now 
 
to be unafraid of how 
many I’ve loved will love 

you, still 
do, and continue to... 
 
you’re just another I can touch 
who doesn’t know how to hold 
 
me…clean breaks can’t ache— 
it’s something like my heart  
 
that keeps stretching across five, ten, fifteen 
years—an expanding hole, a clamped 
 
open metal mouth widening so far it makes two 
of itself for overtime one, two, three,
 
and the hurt’s rim is always
so open you’ll see it— 
 
I’ll never miss again.

Writings & Offerings 🧡

Out Now…

• Our newest issue of The 44 North is here, filled with writing, reading, and editing that I very much enjoyed.

• The next installment of my fairytales-in-verse series: “The Little Mermaid” - Part 3!

• Lamplight’s newest issue is here, featuring story-focused essays, an interview, and a book review by + with care providers across law, coaching, psychotherapy, peer support, and communications leadership. Through the unwavering support of Unsinkable, I’m beyond grateful for the support I’ve been offered to design, curate, write, and edit this small but mighty magazine.

• My next basketball dispatch, honouring one of my closest friends who is also a former coach.

• An essay & poem on craft in basketball & poetry, featuring CWC & some of my favourite writers!

• For the one-and-only, wonderful Conscious Writers Collective, I write previews for our upcoming guest speakers! Take a peek here.

• Full archive here 🫆❤️‍🔥

Write With Me…

• Via CWC, I host a writing group on Tuesdays from 2-3 pm ET! Would love to see you there.