it was my plan all along to lie down there among the twigs and fallen leaves, let the forest have me because there is something in my bones that does not know these days can’t taste the sunlight or feel vast oceans pulse in the night. three days now the snail has been sleeping on…
do they get tired waiting for us, watching us lose and find ourselves on endless repeat. does she, hand extended wait for my return, longing as i do for reclamation – offering salvation to the sound of my foot prayers, redemption at my dark soil under nail prayers as if none of this has…
tree there is no waiting – no now no then only here, new sun flickering lichen bark on old trees. piet-my-vrou between call and answer is silence, cuckoo calls again never loosing faith, knowing it is the silence that shapes its call.
in the heart of my beloved flows a river. steadily steadily i row this infinite flow. in the heart of my beloved grows a tree gently gently i rest.