top of page
Search

"This is not a test..."

A darkness whirling

through woodland

up and over carved rock

into the central currents,

a heroic severity of will

breaking on the cliffs,

pulling down detritus

to a fluid, feral fate —

these bodies, streaming,

lining the haphazard trees

lean and bare and open:

lions in a field of lions,

and so obviously

meant to wander

and run and leap

through the night and

past the morning light,

shoulders burnt brown

now golden and great

in a whirling dawn.

Recent Posts

See All

that Beauty

that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot

A Secret

The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a

thunder gunshot revelry

I'm looking for the medicine, love. Haven't you seen it here? The fronds quiver and the sun whispers. But I'm looking for the medicine; my belly is empty. And haven't you seen it there? It has a name

Comments


bottom of page