1. i suppose it would happen,leaning into what it means to livealive in the worldto live truly open, i suppose it would happenthat i would wonderwhere you were in the worldwhere you are and how it happened thatour way togetherwas lost. 2. when we forget ourselvesfor a while –forget the me, forget the us,forget who…
are there wordsfor this light –words for the waythese trunks twist crevicefor lichen and moss.is there a name for shadowsstrewn forest floorlike windfall petals, when i sit herereally here on this leaf litter floor,are there words for the forestthat rises and sways through me,plays me wood string resonantamong the trees. 16 April 2023
in the spacebetweenhere and now,in the spacebetween two handsheld together in prayer,in the spacebetween me and i,the stars lean closein an expansive skyremembering – rememberingin the the silence betweenthat in our bonesin our cellsin the fractal minutenessof our beingwe tooonce werestars. 18 April 2023
we knew it would rain waking almost morningopening the doorstepping out half darkhoping for the last of night coolon my skin, but insteadthe world breathed warmalive with misttoo close for stars we knew it would rainwhen day came and mistpulled thin across the skyuntil the sun singedthe unravelling edgesof the world and wewaded through the…
almost summer nowand days stretch, longerevenings gold and thick withlife open like a window in time – sunstained by berriesrasp and young, goose and strawi find myself, last light, in the gardenwith wattle and string in hand,scissors precarious in pocket, (and it is hard not to be in love herewith this soil this place this…
speaking with feral tongues 1. “earth my bodywater my blood” 2. what songs are thesethat scald our lipsand leave our tongueshot sand and grit numbin our mouths. what songs are thesehissed in bellow angerthat drives us beatingbeating palm to stretch skinunder a silence of cleared skywhere no sky had been seenbefore. songs of stump and…
this morning, most morningsfirst light, while the kettle warmsi take the short dew-walkbarefeet through the gardenup the drive to the goathouseto open the door for the day,release the two hens withtheir twenty two chicks between themlet the goats out among the treesscoop scraps around the balesfor the rabbits after tea there will be feedingand watering…
birds are scattering songfrom high branches this morning,like berries for the faithfulit falls light and unanswerable, falls trill and pulse andwing purr melody,falls sweet likewell-tongued prayerson the lips of the holy. it calls us to deer paths and mud pathsand roots among the moss paths,calls us to the silent ways of fallen leaf –calls us…
a first songa clapping gameon a father’s knee –lindi-ann is no goodchop her up for fire woodwhen she’s deadwe’ll bake her headinto ginger bread.-words shape uswhen our tonguesare still learningto shape the world. there were days in betweenperhaps years, when nasturtium leaveswere tall shade on damp spring morningstheir parasols shining wordlessveining cathedral glassagainst the blueness…