Twisted in decades of ribbons and bows
My body is beautifully bound
Fine silks in faint pastels
Like the sashes of an Easter dress
A Bow is a Knot
Another Way
Did our hearts collide
In the dreaming
In the astral
In the unconscious?
Drown in Devotion
All else would drown in my flooding devotion
But not here
So broad and vast are these hills
That I can freely open the dams of my heart
She Paints
She paints their eyes black
She knows the nocturnal archetypes
The ones who guard the lost children
The ones who move free of the waking and the dreaming
Always You
Now that I know that
The yearning
Was calling
From the within
To the within
Winter Heat
I don’t know the snow
I know how to balance on the jagged edges of tide pools
My skin burns as it dries leaving hints of salt
My feet dust trails of sand behind their steps
Language of the Birds
Start the course with the cawing call
Of the coal-black and cryptic crow
Descend in jet feathered downfall
To the devolving depths below
Crone
A crone came to visit me
Whilst wearing my own face
She gazed around knowingly
Familiar with this space
Slip Away
Where am I going as I slip away?
Back to the years that fall
Through my fingers
Like sand
Still Life
Take that moment, in between the breaths
And frame that temporal stillness
That would have otherwise chased itself
Across the inertia heaving in each heart
