The Leaving and the Longing

It’s the leaving and the longing
for places I know I had to leave
but they won’t leave me

paths of whispers always following me
fields and forest and petrichor
still clinging to my daydreams
and I know
the longing will never leave

and my space between their roots
will remain hollow
and the cave in my soul
will never again fully hold the old hills

Night Bones

In the old bones of night
the attic creaks and groans
mice tiptoe across dusty boards
those rib cage bridges, marrow bound
blood simmers down to moonlight, pale
rain asks riddles of the roof
no answers until morning light
through open windows, waiting


Rise, rise
from the depth of the sea
rise from the ocean floor
in your new shell of sunken ships
and sunken dreams
made anew in the mirror
of moon and tide:
surge, as a new storm
as a thundering wave crowned in
rejected pearls


Release that tiny spark,
the tiny spark you kindled
all through the winter of the soul
crouched low, hidden
from the gusts and storms
in your chest, the back of your throat
carefully guarded by palms and tongue
from the darkness spreading
down your spine

as you turn your back to
the night

release that tiny spark you kept.

Morning Rainstorm

The clouds are rolling, rolling, rolling
bringing in more rain to wash away
lingering dreams
and the hue of the sky running together
with thoughts, all blending into morning
dark and roiling
collapsing monochrome
storm murmuring beneath a great cloak
calm and agitated in one weave
asking to be read by hands reaching out
from a warm cocoon

Star, Sea, Galaxy

Stars, stars all around
waves, waves but no sound
far beneath the rolling sea
lies a universe for me
far below the ocean foam
is a sea of stars to roam
in a space so dark and far
following a wand’ring star
as in space, so in sea
we will be a galaxy