A slow wind moves through the trees.
Orange syrup of sunset,
drips from branches,
birds of the night,
fold close to me.
Pressure of dialect, vocabulary of air
mixed with desire,
the black pressure of night.
This night brings, dark chords, dark birds, the bull in the alleyway
frightened me, but still, I move into the deeper night,
pulled by the thick incense of […]

I take out my flute.
I sway in ribbons of the earth’s rotation.
You are my axis.
It’s when I fall here,
my nose nestled in the neck of the wind,
that I cannot see myself anymore
churning butter.
The story says things that are forbidden
are the most tempting of all.
They wait for me at the water’s edge,
those who are hungry for […]

It’s a terrible thing to hold back that which springs in you;
the great ocean holds me
waist high in the crush of waves,
it’s none of my business
the way I love you.
The small ships of small talk,
launch bravely over waterways,
so noble, white sails snap
wildly-
it’s none of my business
the way my heart beats.
It’s this lack of control,
that makes […]

I love light in all it’s meanings and manifestations
the way it curves around each finger tip
as you cup air, and make flowers out of it.
The way it makes me levitate
when I take out the heavy things.
Unpack your bags, and stay a while.
Where there are imperfections
there are perfections in
the way the world turns upside
down, and I […]

White as this is white, I am
in the middle of this picture,
knees folded in posture,
waiting for the serpent
snake to rise up
the spine to the forehead,
crown, and back down again.
Enchanted by music, I am
white as this is white.
There are stories to be told.
I listen for them.
Hands folded across the knees.
Quiet as this is white.
What is art […]

this pressure of milk.
the way the earth overflows
when she is with child.
it’s the prophecy inside seeds,
the slow and eventual tree.
it’s not everything we don’t have
that makes the earth
bloom.
take note of it.
cadence of what all religions believe
god is, will keep playing whether
you recognize it as classical
or baroque, whether it is studied
as new age, or archaic.
what’s the […]

Wish for it. Sit still beneath the boughs
of the tree you read about, in books,
mapped out and eulogized in the east.
Let it fill with rain, then snow, water talk,
rivers flow into other rivers with names like
life-blood of god, endless curls of the beloved,
sappy spring rising through branches,
just like water makes pathways through earth,
it should […]

In the act of gathering,
the verb becomes the fruit.
Leaned against a white wall
along with ink drawings of a sparrows with white chests,
red birds singing into their mouths,
the dream of black words written across it,
formatted as a love poem.
If I were brave and strong,
I’d gather branches
knit them together, weave and tie,
fold and crease, merge things
who seem […]

the falling of salt
into tides, and ink dark,
we are sun inside,
a black canvas,
printed with white diving doves:
the pressure of evening,
this window glow,
why am i always outside
looking in, orchids
inside of glass houses,
i’m nothing without
the defining gaze,
sends me into a whirlwind
of hats and umbrellas,
birds who protect their young.
put the needle on the record,
loop churchbells,
loop daytime, loop
you and […]

wake me every morning, just like this
river water blooms across my doorstep
and those, little fingerprints of rain,
come across my window,
like this.
just rest your hands
here, like this.
those woodlands, grasslands, mountain lands,
orchards, canyons, your body, flowered fruit
of memory, what hasn’t happened yet
i remember, like a dog chasing
after it’s tail.
this morning runs like water from me,
these […]