blackened, wizened, deep-based thing
the late light scratches scarlet grooves
in to the trunk
and there are ancient reservoirs
of fingernails
and secret human stories
and the wind
is a blind carpenter
and the turning earth
an eraser
and the sky the skin of an eye
blinking away
civilisations
and centuries
like grit
after the rains came, & there was no me and you your face became a perfect guess which once I only knew, & other skin became a haunting...
i am a strange shape a coalescence of water and word at the crossroads of chance and history my heart is ten thousand years old and my...
i was perched on an arch of air floating in lakes of cloud shadow over the stitch scarred skin of earth, mottled with shrub studded with...
So stunning. Your poems speak directly to the soul of things that the mind has forgotten. Thank you for sharing.