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 […]

White as the shoulders of snowdrops,
the chest of a folding wave,
your mouth, white vapors of clouds-
What I swallowed, I wasn’t afraid of.
Like Icarus as he ascended, like a magnet pulled
by his love for the sun.
They say at every ending there is a beginning.
And so, when the wings, begin to melt,
I fall fast.
Would you tell […]

after The Afternoon Sun by C. P. Cavafy
This room, how well I know it.
This room, my tree-house, my nest
made of the breath of books,
sweat from watercolors,
in the shadow of branches
cast across 240 sunrises
now rented, packed up,
folded and tucked
in boxes, the sunrise still
seeps out.
This house, a double memory.
It is familiar like, photographs of daffodils […]