After the fire

fire dreaming 2Fire dreaming . June 2013


Imagining sparks from earth’s stones

I envisioned the extension

of light


Coalescing with heat

I opened like a flower

once again

to the erogenous

seduction of words


After the fire

the waiting


are poised

as I gaze into the unknown

placing my trust

in the river



nothing and everything



nothing and everything

arrives unexpected


listen listen


and I hear the rising of my own story

surfacing for protection

who am I then?

the sum of my parts

or who I am becoming?


this aching is an intention

radiating in waves

the energy

a voluntary take over

I can feel it everywhere

my sex, my stomach, my bottom lip

inundated I feel I am sinking


drenched in the running colors

I wade to shore


the more I surrender

the more transparent I’m becoming



I hear


the earth is weeping


As a child



I remember

arms and legs


everything into my mouth

pebbles dirt bees

I sang the earth

running rubber knees

kicking the sky swing

standing where the rain just……..stopped

laden fruit trees


I was used to shining light in the dark

glasses in the sun

hiding blindness

running ahead

while looking back

I trip upon the truth


now that I am on

the outside of the mountain


I’m trusting


love knows





photo credits:

Rites of passage


The moon is a pale sliver

of the bloody morning sky

I feel the wistful spirits peering

from behind its silver skirt

               yearning for color         giving themselves names

whispering to be heard


please touch me Jesus

I need to know the surrender

of a compassionate man

before my proud body animal

births this new flesh



sunrise moon



photo credit: <a href=””</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

Brain lights

Heart upended

sight suspended







Migraine auras. They’d come in sequences of three days, lasting for about twenty minutes each time. Just the auras. Not the headaches. For the most part.

Crossing a bridge, the pungent smell of rosemary, walking away from the house…the  triggers were identifiable. 

It’s been a few years now since the perpetuating upheaval of estrangement. No more auras. They were a physicality of the moment.

The heart in the picture is new and looks like it comes from a teenage notebook. Most definitely.

I added the edges surrounding the heart, cut from an old sketch book where I’d drawn the auras.

Glued together

I look at this picture

as an old tattoo on my

perfectly elastic body 

absorbing the sun in the salt spray.


I’m a sailor

in the sea of love.

The deep


small rusted tacks                                                      medium_133146861

holding my toughened skin

to bone

to muscle

like pictures cut from a magazine

pinned to the wall


I’ve given up looking for saviors,

no messengers with bright news.


I see only inside

this heart



in the warm darkness

listening to the words spun

from the silk of the stories

we’ve given wings.


photo credit: <a href=””>striatic</a&gt; via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;





open to skies

deep in the left heel


I don’t need to follow you

I can see where you’ve been

in the waves

with their tongues of silver




photo credit: <a href=””>Elliot Moore</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;