Apology

Execution was a fabrication

A Crookes radiometer sits on the sill

Birds sing their song as they land nearby

A cold glass of freshly poured lemonade dampens the white cloth it sits upon

Ice cubes crack in the heat of the sun

Claiming love as the only true vocation

Splinters from the wooden rocking chair puncture palms

Hands are weaving in the corner of the front porch

Ocean tide is conversing where the yard meets the rocky beach

The key is in the lock ready to turn

Hands up in time for negotiation

The sea sweeps vitality into its great gyre

Swallowing salt and honor

Weakness brought to the barrel at one’s knees

Apologizing for a broken heart

Thought about bridge’s height or immolation

Not catered to the public doubt

Cheeking medication on the ward yearning for cyanide

Lovers lost and found after the greatest compromised promise

Vacancy celebrated and remembered from the altar

With head down ready to surrender to suffocation

Dreams of fate and reason

Crushed with a deadly blow to the head

Name etched into the discharged bullet

Embedded deep within the frontal lobe

© 2026 David Greg Harth

26.04.30.12.36.24@345NYC