The way westerly
is a road of healing.
Heart-wrenchingly wounded,
I will flee, ‘ever-feeling
the weight of a love lost,
unrequited, but faultless.
Me and Willow
Content, blissful,
against her roughness
I lean, and whistle,
wistful… I repent.
The Mountain Crown
Held high-aloft,
the mountain crown,
so crystalline, so cold,
fretfully encircles
her ancient brow.
Ruminant
Intoxicant.
A vanilla-scented
ruminant.
Faraway
I dreamt
of faraway
shores.
Unknown to You
I am unknown to you, here,
in the high winds, kiting.
Aloft, hiding,
in plain view,
my rushing whisper
drifts downward
Beaded Manes
Roar amidst the clatter
of beaded manes.
Claw the bark and tatter
long words, writ upon
these vellum pages
and add a name.
Anastasia
Anastasia, at rest,
the dancelight is blue,
closed fist, she raises it,
thumbing her nose
The Quiet Warmth of Earth
A glorious supper,
the final feast…
as the roots burrow
and decompose
the “Me.”
The Good Girl
The old girl
of fourteen summers
stood facing
the wind.
The Cutting Box
One thousand cuts,
drip-dry, spot-by-spot…
I haven’t bled to death,
but I am so, so tired
of hearing the thunder
from those anguished drops.
Oars in the Muck
Pull your oar
from the muck,
where stayed
in static,
you’d been
stuck.