Through wounds, I’ve met the Healer
In darkest night seen starlight
In briars found wildflowers
And spark extracted from stone
The world is cruel, ’tis true
But truer still
God is real.

Feral voice- bespoke madness
The cleverest keen of winter
-Begrudge me once again a whisper
Soften straw to down as wearily, warily I lay in the scratch of darkness
I am faithful in my errand
but lost in my path
Your bargaining has left me bereft of soul
And I would have it back
Whisper again a return
Or else in slipping
I rend your cloak
And find that breathing promise slack
Here, straw as soft as down
Yet heart clacks still as stone
no release to sleep
Though world I own!

Lioness of the southern hill
Such madness instilled
In drops of roar
In drips of blood
In tooth and nail

Chide me not in winter’s breath
Summer passed us both
And seasons salted wounds
we’d both promised selves to keep hidden
Yet here we stand
As unlocked pieces
Once wedded-
And though we’ve quiver full of barbs and jests
In Eros’ debt, unsung the arrow
In your arms I fall without injury
Without defense
Tis love
A felling blow well
Dare not I say, a fall to bridge the gap from darker to brighter days

For H.M.

“Mama,” says the voice
In my empty home
A question not to answer
A memory from the hall
“Mama,”
Says the voice
In the backseat of the car
Insistent and quiet
Mistakable as a mew
If cats ride in the back
I’m not to engage
I look at the beautiful sky
And its clowns and panthers and conductors
And say, I’m not playing with clouds today
The clouds are clouds again
The voice is still the voice
But I don’t play with her either.

Before the train
Heartbeats
The whoosh of life
Missing the rhythm of an afternoon’s passengers
You stand and consider
Heartbeats
And hearing none in the student throng
You cup your wrist
Until thrumming
discordant world whirling through the station
A hundred unheard drums

and they sing of the dew breeze
Mountains capped by hoodies
They sing of the black sea
Valleys of shining water
Red as the sea
They sing of temptation
His hand on the tiger
And they sing of my country
As if there would be no other

Sunken treasure teeth Father holding his daughter soft gently peeling her off what Mercy what malevolence mutters from the crowd as he quickly sweeps the money and hat away time to move on she feels the damn in her mind giving way caring cramping her style she wants to find on something and ride, Captain, ride into the dark corners she plans to deliver light poor thing such rare treats in a world gone pickled beets and pigs feet she holds her tooth aloft as a star and signals to its sisters- another gift- she proclaims and marches one step twa two step down the lane a torch bearing her name spiraling dna into flame