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Love her, love her (k)not; secret her against your skin and taste her salt. She is the running of the wolves, is the shaking of the photograph, is a grainy and lamenting sky. Warn her of your passing, and warm … Continue reading
.. You say to talk about her in a new way and I must tell you I am exhausted. She exhausts me. My nouns. My verbs. My inky veins. I have quilled her a thou -sand poems in paper sky, … Continue reading
… I started several things today, but there was a problem (or two, or three). You see, I’m a shiny object girl, a swirl of paint and chalk and heart-felt talk (no time for silly exchanges of how’s the weather? … Continue reading