Standing stock-still
at the window,
watching mist curl
in early morning tortured beauty,
I can only think
‘save me from myself’
so I can see this again.


no offerings

i have nothing to give
you, no handful of flowers
or mouthful of words,
no sweet lies or stark truths

i don’t know anything
and the world is an ugly place

Tip-toeing through the ossuary,
she hummed
a song of sweet mercy
in the undulating moonlight.
Her steps were not careful
and her path was not straight
but she tossed aside worries
of a world sucking away her dreams
like a famished whore in a grimy back alley
and moved to the mossy hill
that smelled like home.

Our Storm

I know what I’ll wear when we meet:
a dress of fire and jewels of rain.
Nothing more need brush my skin
except your gaze.

When we touch,
mountains will whisper
and trees may roar.

My heartbeat will follow
the sure sound of your step.
Nothing will need to be sung
that hasn’t flown before.

When we touch,
a storm will make way
for a new landscape.