anointing

Wisteria falls

in lavender drops

from its feathery

treetop canopy.

The world stills –

        quiet

but for the patter

of fragrant petals

on my upturned face.

crash

          picking
through

            the
                     pieces

   scattered
                  on     the

       floor



        shattered
reason

           shimmering

                                   more

                 intriguing
                         than
           before
                          .

unspoken

Place your fingers here

in the hollow of my throat.

Do you feel the rumble

low and deep?

Hold still,

a moment more.

Can you sense it swelling,

gaining strength and clarity

as it struggles toward the surface?

Soon or late,

it will be born.

You cannot say

you were never warned.

swamp song

I long for the damp scent
of black, sandy loam
at bayou's edge,

soft patter
of gently lapping water,
murky green and dark,

whispers of breeze
from dragonfly wings.

I long for home.

Dolores

despair

stains the floor

everywhere

her bare feet

meet the polished wood,

slowly seeping

colorless

toward the walls.

each breath expelled

smells hot

of anguish

aged and ripe.

shards of flashing

sharp and light

slice the air

around her,

entice

with glittering

promise

of pain.

do not be drawn

into her eyes.

do not mistake

that hollow depth

for need.

there is nothing

here

for you.

Fear Not

Trust me enough
to let me stand to my full height
without reprimand.

Sing with me as I test
the strength and reach of my voice
uncovered,

for I must.

I have long outgrown
this narrow space,
and no choice remains
but to at last become
who I am.


You must have known
this day would come,

or did you think

   these

      wings

         were just for show?


(repost from 2008)

perspective

when did we
become so small?

how do we fit
into these tiny suits
of self?

surely
we were meant
for greater
reach.