its in the practice of little devotions
that everything we dig up
can be turned into treasure
or at least a map of where to
or where to not find it

Someone is ringing the bell; I no longer know who they are but I feel the clapper’s reverberation.

I wish you all the happiness of a spring yielding to summer braver, old friend. Please understand I mean no harm.

Things your eyes say:


Your eyes are beautiful, not because of their color or their shape, but because of their gleam as you tilt your head closer and embrace the person next to you.
I know you understand the gift of a small kindness, of a well-meaning "hello,"  and that is why your eyes captivate me with their soft syrup sweetness. They seem doused in sincerity, and it shows. No human makes it to this field of kindliness without crossing the mud moats of pain, but you awoke today and chose warmheartedness' aromatic nectar. And the world reaps its benefit

I am loved. the sun that rose over the brushes
up until it climbed the trunk of a magnolia tree
giggling swung past the thick petals of its flowers
and set off into the open sky.

we hold death as if it were our bride loyal
and unwavering in her resolve to reunite
with us right at precipice of our uncertainty
always insistent, always watchful are her soft eternal hands, for as long as birth exists so does death and for as long our children are born and their mother call to them it matters not what language they are lulled with;  they are ours.

the conclave is over and the smoke has risen white what are we to do with all this possibility, what are we to do but take into our hands