He slips the twenty-dollar bill into his pocket and exits the truck. Beginnings of a mustache dust his upper lip. The binder is tight on his chest. Slowly the dysphoria is lifting, each day on testosterone drawing him a bit closer to himself. A sedan rolls into the alley.
city moon—
a butterfly lands
on the bridge rail
work has recently appeared in NOON: journal of the short poem, Bones, Kingfisher, contemporary haibun online, and his book the gossamer (2023). When not writing, he enjoys hiking, camping, playing board games, and taking long walks in the fog. Aidan lives and loves in the Pacific Northwest.
