Here lilies lick the growing moon. The moon, he kisses back. They're opening, unwavering. Communing with the shining king. The scent of them, unpuckering. Their petals sweet, unfolding. Tilted back to feel his lips brushed upon their gentle tips, the perfumed drafts of supple forms dancing in the balmy dark beckon to his majesty, call him from his slumbering. And he is calling back to them, the stars around rejoicing. This ecstasy between them shines to the one in awe, fills the gentle August air with trembling passionate spice that only lasts for a few warm nights before they lie dormant again.
Balsamic Moon
The need to go within a wounded mother wolf would-be pups pawing from her womb The emptiness of knowing quiet of Earths tomb the need to curl the need to sleep The dearth of light a lack of luster roots in the room culling the bite
Collection
Tarnished This dead rose And forlorn In sorrow Aged And hollow Yet bright In the tallow Citrine Serpentine Opaline Ametrine And stones of darkness Garnet teardrops Snowflake obsidian Smoky quartz But the browned rose Knows its own death So well It glows Amongst the collection of stones Cast the circle outward Then back into itself I drink in the darkness I eat the hearts of stones
Shifting
I. Oaken mold of trees Blood to rotting roots Baying on the ridgeline She-wolf hides her skins Skulking peeking cautious Takes on human form Changes with the moon Seeking fresher carcass II. Bred into the soil And bones bereaved of love A skeleton of winter And icicle drips Lofty slopes Her lair is dug Where trembling saplings Plead for sun Darkness here This Stygian wild Fed from grief And the trickling springs III. Weress woman Hides her skins The deepest trunk Of the eldest tree She dons them again On New Moon Just reclaimed From balsamic And so the cycle Meager existence Mountain heart Crevasse bound
Serpents Delve
I build things and then destroy them There are no endings Only a serpent spinning Is there a light at the end of the tunnel I can not Will not Long for it Darkness encircles me Darkness is me Melting into a cave of quiet My slick limbs smeared onto walls of stone This heart beats toward the slithering gold That pulls and taunts me toward its luster
Unrequited
This small and unrequited love
Frail and screeching like a newborn
Bleating shakily in thorny corners
Of the overgrown brambles of passion
I am left alone to care for
To find and hold and nurture
Unless I put it out of its misery
And bury its corpse in the earth
Survival
Bare feet cold and cramped
Feeling trapped so I cut it loose
That’s just what I do when trapped
Burn the rope that binds
Myself from my Faery self
Freeze the hand that tames
My shape is wild
And Unseen
For you don’t see the bleeding heart that needs a gentle hush
Tender hands and careful words
She's invisible to you
This spontaneous creek loving girl
All you see is the object of your lust
Undressed and hopping into water
Snowmelt pulsing
Valley soil eyes
Flesh-gleam tight with cold
Curves like winding streams
And there truly is no love in how
I was taken quickly against the trunk
Fae joy fading into gelid moss
As my heart congealed again
Into this human woman
Living in Survival
Breathing Sky
My bones crack as I shed my skin
Again and again and again
I’m twisting and reaching
Writhing and moaning
My grief waning like the grinning moon
Peeking out through winter mists
Ice clouds shrieking through my torso
Dragging old pain across the night sky
To be dissolved in ephemeral clouds that tremor away in fits
My stars align in lunar flight
Purifying my heart with these crystals of gods’ tears
I am alive and breathing sky
Cranberry Columbine Creek
It’s like the damp littered forest is obfuscating my senses. The way it smells, the way you smell, running heartily down the mountain. Catch me! Catch up to me! Cranberry columbine creek. To the boughing trees where I sink: The summer sun is lemonade fade through branches cool and long. The dawn and then the dusk. East to west. Colors falling downward in the glass; sweetened syrup. And I’m a wet mess river swamp thing; algae: Salmon skin shining in the confluence of tributary creek to river, river to sea. I left you in the dust of basalt but we were already breaking; the summer sun iced lemonade, cold beer, warm wine, and water-blood. The words we loved. We drank so much we consumed each other! We carved our names into sandstone as if they would stay, as if I would stay. Bardess. Seeker. Poetess. Seeker. In the trees elf-disc comes through in grenadine. I can’t stop facing cranberry colored, crimson-basted lemonade-draining creek. Cranberry. Columbine. Creek. Beloved, you died in those sugary woods. My heart, your heart; the same creature beating. Wrapped in fat, dripping dark black blood in a trap dangled from doorway. Cranberry columbine creek. I wanted to write, but you hung your heart in the trap and had it bleed before me, as if me writing would destroy us. Somehow you knew if I was given the space to write, I would leave. Leave! Inevitable that I leave. Destroyer. Seeker. Traveler. Seeker. Mountains high and glossed. Lemons squeezed and tossed, tossed then found, lost, and bound to standing rocks beside the stream looking down, not behind, but down. At cranberry columbine creek.
3-923
If anything, I brought you to me. Fires lit and blood spilt, cedar burning, moon high.
Your eyes always did shine amongst the trunks, in a myriad of greens, blending in with darkened firs and madrones.
I called for you in the night, imagined you with horns, bucking, running, singing in a circle of stones, stars bright behind a tree-line of inky, jagged black.
You were so tall and shadowy.
Offering blood and milk, I asked for you. Holding mead and troth, I gave to you…..my worship…..
My heart was a purple moon and you ate it. You wolf of the forest, buck of the Wood.
And then I could feel your movements, see through your eyes.
I baited you for the Hunt.
Bloodroot
Pulling red beets from black soil
Aggregate minerals tumbling down
On my knees in the sanctuary
Patella bones cradled by earth
Fertilized to crimson
To blood-red and black
Sweet-hearts-shaped and beating
With the sky a shade of dusk
To pull them right
Balsamic moon holding
In the open of my hands
Juice-trickle so like blood
Sacrificial bulbous
Root to spinous process
Bending every fiber
Of these aching limbs too real