Some days I stand empty, silenced save for the ghosts wandering my halls running chill fingers through the dust layering heart and spleen and the edges of my eyelids. Some days it is hard not to linger, listening to the spidery whispers of all my wrongs recited like a litany of healing though the wounds … Continue reading Barrow-wight →

There is food at the edgesAnd drinkYou will be welcomed hereWith a guest's gifts and obligationsThere is the safety of the haunted darkYou may trust that all you meet would eat you upYour flesh, perhaps, or dreams or vivid hungersYou will see the white shine of bone, know the smell of your visceraWhen you offer … Continue reading Blackberry Market →

I used to carry a cathedral in my pocketSanctified by the hush between a silver kiss and the upwelling of iron and salt that served in place of tears.There was a time when a maelstrom lived behind my eyes, haunting the tips of my fingersand the corners of my lips, hungering and gravid.Sometimes still it … Continue reading Home →

I seek the silence between the spaces, the almost and the engulfing, Making pilgrimage to the possible.

I am not braveMy eye is not so bright as to illume all my heart would encompassStar song now discordant in the uplift of my voiceAnd I am broken These shards dance, reflecting the stories we tell ourselvesTo lull us back to sleep, clingingSafe, we say, back to flame, holding cindered the hands of our … Continue reading Refraction →

The world is rent open;I would mend it.And if I cannot, I will decorate the edges,a fine tracery, veined to feed us.We all of us need those wild places,after all,where our own brokenness may settle again into that strange song that is our self.Let it arise in you,and in each other.Nurture the bramble and the … Continue reading Threaded →

The mirror crackedNostalgia, like grief, lancing poison I want to hear that something in her broke openthe first time she held meThat all her rage and pain somehow sublimated into a fierce protectivenessI have her chin, after all, and her smilePerhaps that is why she raised me to know heartacheWild-shy, a stranger in a world … Continue reading Salt in the Well →

I haven't been writing much recently, really, and it has felt like a waiting space or like being poised, listening deeply, rather than preparing to speak. And today I had something simple and maybe slightly unfinished arise and I wanted to share it. It is called, for now anyway, Golden on the Tongue, and thus … Continue reading Succulence, or Golden on the Tongue →