peak wind at willows
dial turn
whistle and the window
blue b3000 sway from left to right
waves collapse and burrow
comfort to be cradled in this way
quiet out of eye’s view
but across the way
does the lighthouse keeper know the pain?
three story high lit window with chandelier
do they know it too?
betrayal is a sorry game
every wall in defence
contested to condensation
green through the peripheral sliding door next time i’ll get it right
2021 // lay to rest
Rest in the belly of driftwood While wind waves bathe the wetlands
Cattail & otherwise watch Lovers moss and lichen confetti
Spread six year stale hair Like ashes A reclamation of sorts
Earbud with wire and clematis vine tangle to decide who keeps who. Sap substance on the sleeve, not sure how it arrived.
Gutter grass from the bed, the sound of moss drinking. Seeing spider sitting - careful not to walk the path that will warp it’s web.
Weaving a fishnet of snake skin collected from mud of the bog found in a zig zag formation.
Mushroom eaters in a love dance, the first time i’ve seen flowers in this way.
Lay it all to rest with the stick parted in two ways. They fit together only sometimes.
2020 //
My body drifts in the barely detectable wind. Is it too dry to homeostasis search? Found moss, a connection never seen by these rocks. Imagine this as the place we meet again - me and body. Pine needles drying with the September sun. Pick them, hold them closer. Tuck the wounds between arbutus trees, drying grass, distant sounds of singing. Funeral rock. Where things come to die. Old selves, pine needles, bodies that won't meet until I meet mine. Bits of moss share real estate with the bottom of my pant leg. Tension where the foot meets patch. Where patch meets rock. Find the armpit of the tall dead grass that has not yet been braided for winter. Moisture will not bring them back come spring again. To life. Or to braids. I step expecting hard ground only to sink into soft grass.
2020 //
There is a silent putter. Step forward and back. Avoid catching the cat's tail. Roll the rug out from under. The harp mutters about. Words stay within so as not to reveal too much. To hope a whistleblower is not watching. Green lit. Candle lit. Street light lit. A gentle fog rolls over. Soundbite stairwell creek cigarette break. Dishes left in the sink. Warm blood allows for warm blood. Farewell to the edge and back again. Two hands clasped together, one on top of the other. They are firm. Even pressure with even temper. They hold the space that longs for relief. Moths hiding for months. Morning starts with wings. Winds. Wings in winds. They land on the left shoulder. Laced up. Held alongside a too tight sweater that was excessively placed in the dryer. It’s wool - I should know better. Sap drips onto the scalp. They don't mind. Steady split ends. The bristles no longer catch the dust. A pile that grows every hour.
2020 //
Arms spread. Wingspan across a bench. Stomach rot. The leaves, too. Red and golden. Still far from the ground. The tips of the ears also red. No one can feel them. Charlie horse. The body that is now here impervious. The liquid being you. Finding fertile ground is merely a disturbance of vegetation. On its last hour. Apparently still growing. Plant undergrowth. Sow the next season. Try again. A broken elastic has dried resembling a ramen noodle pack. Made to fix holes. A favourite tree now a swamp. Stump swamp. Loons paradise. Roots purge within. Don’t know where ground begins and ends. Our grounds now, or never were. Swamp allows for dimensional affect. Nose dive. Beak dive. Rain falling from otherwise already fallen rain. Drop off trees in bits. For now, new fallen rain. Old fallen new rain. Sleep walker but not talker. Warmth around neck but not nose. Didn’t see it, even with opened eyes. And then separate ways. Cold sweat on the corner of the adanac. Uncanny encounter of rosy flesh. Carpet burns the wounds. Fees charged even within the cancelation date. Bitter seeds planted between raised hairs. Never before there. Now overgrown. Scrubbed away in the pool of dirt and salt. Only one gets the release. Two candies in a plastic container, sealed with a broken band. The other, alone with heavy chest. Opposite of care. Uncare. Rosy flesh. I’ll never know why.