Anna, if I may call you that:
Of the many paintings hung, your searing stare stole me,
Though I know not what your story held,
I could tell, those eyes dipped in ink, cut with facets of intrigue—
You were only welcoming to those deserving.
Read More
I have burned so long too long.
threshing paths
grinding hope
head bowed limbs slack
I ask I ask
peel back this mortal bind
Read More
Gaze upon the world
silk in our hair, gold around our feet
the setting sun clothes our bodies
clouds paint the sky in streaks
sister, why do you say we have nothing?
Read More
If the sun touches you before I do, If the air enters you before I do,
Read More
I may be fleeting/but I am joy/At the brink of dawn each day/reminded/by the spread-opened wings of/a dead sparrow
Read More
