ma belle fleur with swollen knuckles tangled hair your veins are small rivers flowing against grain poison granules in deep blue my lips and teeth learning to swim in them draw red to my tongue a soft rain our breasts look different in sunlight bright white against sand, your desert showered in touch I trace…Read more »


There’s sand in my sheets where I’ve carried the grit of travel into fiber into home strange a threshold crossed seamlessly, Virginia’s in the kitchen Georgia spilt atop the hutch the sheets are dusted, a comfortable grain against well-worn skin calves, unshaven and I’m the sand in someone else’s bed

The Bard At Night

You were loud as the moon words echoing through half-light -a gaping chasm of nearly pitch black. Your laugh struck me like leaves in autumn, auburn stains, pristine pointed edges for weeks, until you could melt into the earth, washed away with old papers or a memory or a bit of rain. Silver-skinned and long…Read more »

Four Winds

I met a woman and she was the eye of a storm. The storm was ruthless, slapped the sea with open palms screamed titan winds and flooded me and you. But she was calm there at the center of everything not a hint of a smile on her omnipotent mouth. And in an empty, stoic…Read more »

A Forest: Unwooded

Have you ever met a woman like hickory? Slender hands touch the sun and she can’t think of earthly things. She can sway without lifting root bear the sky without shrugging standing somber among the felled she can stare – cold – browned autumn eyes fall, jarring the boldest men quaking the stillest earth.