too much of a mouthful

arched back to the green, green grass

sleep not to dream

For Kevin, These Precious Things

happiness is what I know at the thought of you

ecstasy is what I know at the touch of you

love is what I know, finally and completely, because of you

and all of these things, these precious things, as I now know them, I will give to you

in the bye and bye

“hope you have your camera

hope you have some paper

cause if no one gets this down

then it’s gone…”                              IMG_6341

targlyphs and what i imagine to be primrose

and grass green as a forgotten sea

and tenderness

what i know of it

soft and spirited and surrounding me like a dream of him

and here in my hand

a river rock

weightless for its rounded, warm state

that will dissipate

as all of this does

and spell and sky bound

and into the sea and sky again

an inarticulate language that fills me as full as would a raucous bird caught here in my chest

letting go an inescapable awareness

of tether and drift


(words borrowed from Jane Siberry, The Speckless Sky, 1985)

Targlyph: the term I penned for designs found on the streets of my hometown, also shown in photo above…

all of me

i only want to feel something more than this boredom of sadness and solitude

hard hands soft on my body

hot breath expelled as he catches my saporific scent

skin on skin

as his intent stretches over my sweetness

and swallows all of me



where a poem might begin

and a mission might end is here

in this space between us

where i am

warm and willowed

where his eyes, his hands and his mouth are on me

where we communicate in a way

that makes me feel so completely a woman

sweet, attenuated and sacred

a monstrous light

and she came to the understanding that perhaps she would need fall

and fall far indeed

to a new depth of territory

wherein, as with the ocean,

all would be deeper and colder

and the resident creatures would be found to produce their own light

as she herself would need do

but tender

because he wants to take her to the edge

light her up

ground her

and return her to the stars

Marcus’s Dream of Domesticity

rolling in this moment, this patch of bright territory

this song

you stored in aluminum

amidst the eggplants and bell peppers

and, so, i will cook with your words on my tongue

your rhythm opening road at my center