there is no talking as it would break the spell and wake serena who sleeps with woolly breaths, her head on my shoulder on a slow autumn afternoon. sewing scissors in hand i free the goat from the pile of curls, gathering the fleece for winter spinning
for now birds still sing the evening, while somewhere in the house there is ukulele and talk, and the steady knife to board rhythm of chopping vegetables (but out there – out there the streets have turned to silence, there is pause and breath and wait – and all the sanitiser in the world is…
tomorrow morning i sink my feet into the earth and breathe with the world through these changes.
what if our hearts don’t have borders and love lives a long way away.
it was full dark before i made my way inside hands full of cactus dahlias and roses full blown before promised rain. these autumn evenings catch me – sending bats to flit the sky while i feel the last kiwi cuttings into the soil, water late season tomatoes new planted. it is better this way,…
our bodies, inculpably vulnerable and spilling with light, cannot betray us any more than we can betray the earth our body.
did we think the birds would not sing this ending too, that the morning sky would no longer disrupt the waiting dark, pull mountain and horizon from the deep red start. did we think we would not feel this change wind blow. this too will fall away. we are children of this earth and sky,…
i have spread fragrant petals on my desk to dry, there is strong medicine in the delicate pink of the rose that lived full bloom to the storm.
the river flows salt with this harvest moon, pushing the sandbank heavy with night rain, tasting krill stories and ice dust on the tide. remembering herself as ocean, as cloud, as rain.