I don’t know many things, but I know how the fragile mouths of the morning glories lie open in the dusk, waiting to drink warm swallows from the sun, furling it inward to its star shaped filament and ovary for rest. I know the melodic chant of the male whippoorwills in the river valley, how…

Let me make you a mud pie of pine needles and poke berries,of humbled curiosity and just enough.Meet me with gracein all that I am and desire to be.I promise to do the same for you. Teach me the shape of your desires and the color of your boundaries, the language of your love like the…

I took little me by her hand and reminded her our precious worth.

The poppies returned and we ran outside to wring out our wishes from their restful hollows. The poppies returned and we rustled up our tired and worn to lay them down in blood petal beds of peace. Sleep, we begged them and walked slow circles shushing and swaying the way we soothe our babies, shushing…

Put the world on hold for a moment. Paddle-in to the island along the river around the bend from my pine cabin in the wood. Remember that space where the mist rises and my heart is fully met with eddy pools and birdsong, hope greater than fear for the unknown. Where nothing is too much…

I found myself out in the night wandering Trusting one foot in front of the other as my friend Phil had shown me. You don’t need light to know where you’re going.  The land will open or it won’t. You’ll feel something soft holding you or you won’t. What happens in the dark is surrender. 

If there is one thing that I know about you she said, it is that you can make a fire from a few fallen twigs of maple, a handful of pine cones, and desire.  There is no guide and you won’t have one to share when you’re done. After the river recedes, you will walk…

Rouge lips. Flush cheeks. The red of a turnip pulled centuries ago. From Earth-worn fingers, swollen breasts.Buttermilk bellies born to withstandtraveling the waters of not-worthy to the shores of desire. Derry and Glasgow Sweated and dug me into form.I can see them through the film of my skin,woolen skirts waving in the wind. Worn hands…

I rose with the sunand stumbled downto the river’s mouth in the morning.To the place where her lips lapat the muddy bank beneath my feet.Driftwood and dirty bottles washed ashore,remnants of once strong arms,once insatiable thirst. Desire is a fickle thingwhen not sustained at the root.The unknown wound always thirsty.Begging the banks of the known…

I woke with a fire burning against my belly, fuzzy and electric, decidedly shifting it down to my toes. Arlo licks the tip of my nose awake,  slightly nipping with untrained teeth. My love snores through the pine in the next room over. I make my way with woolen feet. Across the field, a neighbor…