SILENCE WILL BECOME US
The beaver dam is broken and for a moment it seems the lake escapes from out the whole wide heart it has been holding. And what is love but the possibility of life–? of fish to teem in welcomed spring and new mouths to feed we’d need not worry of the fall before. Is the…
If I stand, will you follow–? but I guess I am no Emperor and so am unconcerned by the taking up of space. Rather, would I lead by example in the embodied art of being just visible enough to spare embarrassment, but not exposed to the unreeling of the fish we’ve caught; to better bearing…
Sitting in the sauna with my hair up, the ice cold water I just plunged into and out of with a moment’s notice grows warm again beneath your touch, if only in my mind– soft kisses drip down on my neck like the moment your lips touched my back and I knew I’d not resist…
I feel ready to disappear if you aren’t here to see me; over and over again I feel the impulse to declare: “I have not gone! You are not bereft of my remembrance yet–” (although I tend to wonder if you would). Am I a wood you’ve lost the sight of, for having fallen trees…
I’m thinking of you; are you thinking of me, in the sound of the crunch of the snow-? I hear like the tempo of a fading beat the landing of each blow you break against our back– the doubtful, fair retreat. But I still wonder, anyways, whether this shirt will still smell of you tomorrow–…
A man catches me staring at the baby draped over his knees like a tiny blanket, sucking at its fist; I imagine asking for a turn at holding this baby– explaining that it’s been so long since I had my own, I can no longer take it here for granted, the way they nest against…
I have bent so long in evading the terror of winds that had snapped my fae and brittle branches sapped of their small strength– for what is youth without love and forgiveness for what we’ve not learned but a toil meant to carry these, our graces out from under soil we were taught should fair,…
Did you notice, this whole time you’ve been working to an inevitable closure of wounds you’ve been tending with the intuitive brilliance of a flower unfolding; of a child’s fist in its mouth and a newborn foal’s legs left quaking, wet and well-covered by fluids and spit licked up like a soup and his body…