A world entombed in a low hum
Brushes the air above our heads
Tickling the crown
It asks us to see with curiosity
The flying things
And light
Leaks out of violet clouds
In the wind piano notes drift
Softly, growing louder and wider
We all can hear
The hum of decay
And delightful smiles
Of nature

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Truer now 
As it has always been
The grief that comes
When I am alone
Beyond the threshold
I’ve forgotten my place 

‘Are you okay? I’m always here if you need to talk’

To mobilize the loss
Into a feast for us all to share
I give the pearls of my heart
And watch you eat them 
Chew them
Grind into dust
And wipe the iridescent spit
On my eyes
So I can be something pretty
And lovin...

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The deep hunger I have for you
Is not yours to carry
It scares me at times
My desperate wound 
Hasn’t quite healed
But I’ve forgiven myself
For crying at your feet
And swallowing the coals
Of defeat 
From your fire
But this is also not you
It’s all in my head
I wish I could fix
The parts that wish I could be fixed
Or different
Strange in the most perfect ways
And served up for cons...

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My hands move quickly in the wind

Tying prayers into knots

My frigid joints ache as they work

A wide net is cast in the open air

Across a wide cliff edge

Overlooking the sea 

After a day of crude labor

I know tomorrow brings

Butterflies

Caught and released 

To a more forgiving terrain 

I did not seek out this occupation

It fell into my hands long ago

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I spoke to the clearing

Deep in the wood

Changelings live here and study

Their own movements

Reflections in the water 

Dancing and gazing 

Learning to behave 

Like friends and adversaries 

To those who seek to claim us

I spoke to the mirror 

Burrowed in the dead husk 

Of a fallen birch

Embossed with morning dew

My visage glistened 

In the warm gl...

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Luck in what falls from the toss

But as we all know

As above, so below.

Tracing an uneven trail of crumbs

Up into the gorge.

Particles so dense in weight,

Undisturbed by wind and rushing streams.

Creeping through a narrow crack from above,

A magnet trail anchored to the tight core.

Moved only by self-possessed desire

And the precision that can only be learned

...

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