Three Tools: (a writing workshop):

One: Collaborative Wordbank: (mountain):Rooted in the watersTheir flow the beginning and the edge of beingA lush invitation, to the depths fallingThere is refuge only in the walkingSettled rhythms workingThe deep release of standing in now Two: Frame of Reference: (a teapot):Writer to Object:Hard edged but not angularRidged and communicative to fingertip and tongueWarm, wet inhalations … Continue reading Three Tools: (a writing workshop):

safety is (not) a passage

Molten I am, cracking my shell,devour my own abandoned flesh;nutritive, my hunger burns the hotter,a sacrifice shrouded in the roots which rundeeper on the path at our feet, the pathfound only in what feeds us.lapping waters spill from lipslimned by a fresh confusion,opening vistas ordered along newly broken lines;a narrative written in breath and beingand … Continue reading safety is (not) a passage

The Sight

There are daysI yearn for the languageto put all that speaks to mebefore the world.I dig into myselflooking for some gift of words like soilto nourish the things unfurling inand aroundus all,the spaces betweenwhere relationship is written. Instead,I find ash,and the gentle invitation of a heart firefed by all that remainsyet unnamedwithin me.Perhaps it is … Continue reading The Sight


I sit beside the me that is youholding hands, holding our grief, I say,as you look back at us, those years like a wasteland,I say, “This is our fertile ground,this is our watershedflowing into mighty being, confluencepoints in the journey.”My heart marvels at the way our broken piecesrefract the beauty in these stark-edged, sharp-eyedraptor placeswhere … Continue reading Traceries


Spokenfreely, givingvoice in the silenced placewhere into darkness roots what isneedful,a term undefined by all butthe living of what mayresound trulywithin. (I'm starting to try to learn about different poetry forms. This is a mirror cinquain. A regular cinquain is 5 unrhymed lines with a syllable pattern of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2 so a … Continue reading Poetry

May My Feet Walk the Path

There are two storiesweaving through metwisting sinewsalready taut with pain and panic.I am bereft, adrift,choking on lonelinessand all that is unspoken. Time seems a torment, myself a prisoner within itand there is a peace in naming it.I have no words of beauty or wisdom,nothing of value to give. Still, there is richness here;joy and sorrow … Continue reading May My Feet Walk the Path

Given Voice

I visit that secluded poolSettle into silence there, feet cooled by mossy outgrowths of meaningCaressed by deep currentsReflectingWords weave into lifeStories darting silvered just beneath awarenessFlashes catching the eye, jewel brightEnticingThere is no room for striving hereNo net nor reel can draw in what catches youHeld, holding a welling of those same word-watersNourishedGiven voice