the water’s edge:
i find my peace.
for here, i pledge
will i release.

the way i walk
speaks odes to me;
for when i talk,
i trudge my feet.

my voice, a ghost;
my heart, a race;
i guard my post
and hide my face.

but at the sea,
i slow my mind.
i wish, for me,
i could be kind.

taboo, is this -
pain spews within
(society’s bliss
a secret sin)

so in Her light,
i dream of peace -
for here, i might
find a release.

the white lace dress hugs Her slender body
on this special day. welcome, all guests, to
this morning’s ceremony. we are so
thrilled you could join us. we are here today
to celebrate you. your contributions,
your impact. your footprint. do you know that
you are here to proclaim your affection
and commitment to Her? are you willing
to confess your love and protection to
Her? your hands begin to tremble, like when She
strikes the ground. you scoff, “yuck, ***”, not
knowing the truth. She woke in the hum of
june, broke a sweat, but felt a haunting chill
swim down Her spine, a crashing - a total
consumption of life. in the morning light,
can you see it? can you see the shape of
Her belly? can you see the shape of Her
pain, as she clings to Her life, scared, so scared.
holding Her stomach, cursing the wind on
a windless day. you will commit to a
lifetime of puffy eyes, fevers, meltdowns;
waking in a sweat, (but not your own) you
will hold Her hair as she coughs up the
most apologetic garden of words;
you will rub Her back as She weeps, calling
out, asking why bad things happen to good
people. no. She is so much more than you
or i. She has constant evergreen love –
“never dies” they will say, until they find
themselves digging Her grave. Everyone’s grave.
will we pile in together, like a
landfill? we’re wasteful, weren’t these things made
for waste? isn’t that what we are? a waste?
she exhales, and quickly whispers, “no”
She wipes Her eyes. She clears Her throat to share
how happy She is to have you. happy.

“do you take them to be yours, forever?”

(forever: until i die. until i
die for them.)

confidently, Her: “i do.”

“do you take Her to be yours, forever?”

(forever: until you **** Her. until
you **** Her. aware of your impact, your
footprint, you know what happens.)

You: “i do.”

“you may now kiss the bride!” – as the sun shines,
you close your eyes and lean in, and then you

wake up. break a sweat in the bitter cold
of december. this is quite far from a
celebration. it’s a nightmare, and your
hands tremble. uncontrollably. but this,
Her wellbeing, Her safety, Her life, this
you can control. what made you believe you
couldn’t? celebrate Her. apologize.
hug Her like the white dress. sincerely.

waltzing into life
the bee is
one of many.
their heart yearns
for sweet nectar,
or maybe love,
or just time.
but honestly, it’s
a short life
and the days
stretch as thin
as the webs
that hide in
the smallest corners.
is it so much
to ask for
a little more
time?

i shift
farther from freedom
when fueled by these flames.
i laugh
frightened by the fiction
that is a fabrication
of my favorite friday afternoon.
i grin
but it falters; it fades -
faster than my fears
on a quiet morning.
i freeze

A solemn inferno is crafted, and not shortly after
My bones are chapped, my blood shaking, my organs cracking;
Have I got it wrong? I laugh.
I follow the path of the pointed droppings from the trees
The crunch at my feet, how cliché! I hesitate.
The chill slips away in the night, and the fire
Wraps around our hands – like gloves – a perfect fit.
Life is too grim to live without a flame
I never want to face a season without this.
I have seen the moon dance and decline;
Seen it
Finish its routine.
I applaud.

Start again.
Again, again, again,

Huddled around my ball of light, bonding;
Oversharing. I cry.
When I was still able to count my age on my fingers,
This sun could never come undone;
I never imagined her ******* her soul for me,
slowly, like a neatly wrapped present on Christmas morning;
I never imagined learning how to burn my memories.

I can finally let you go.

Your kisses never showed me this admiration
But I wish you well. I sigh.
I will see you again, in the candlelight –
Only an imitation of the evenings
where the fireflies would tuck me into bed
and the stars would tell me a story.
Goodnight, good riddance. I lie.

daylight, inflamed from your touch, fell softly;
she is the Mistress of the Universe.
rejoicing in Her own spirit, She inspires,
despite the dissonance between man-kind
and the land, filling their lungs blissfully.
in the beginning, Her shadow seemed still,
high and quiet, mocking the hands of time
(not yet understood, ‘til enlightenment
of knowledge.) She would sit up on Her throne,
peering down, gazing, envious of Us,
as She guards her post obediently
under Nature’s inevitable spell,
wishing that she could end Her troubled thoughts.
She knows she must wake and rise each morning,
She knows Her penance is everlasting.
it doesn’t make it any easier,
being aware of the cross She must bear;
by love, however, She always complies –
sometimes with sweaty palms, quivering lips,
unsteady balance, a crack in her voice –
(regardless, She washes over Our skin)
and cleanses Us of darkness and loneliness.
Her light: a skewed version of teardrops,
perhaps dried by Her heart, as She weeps flames
down her cheeks, a permanent and bold blush
extinguished of purest sin and shyness.
Her intentions have always been Good. Right.
when She hides Her face, She does so gently
searching for a moment to catch Her breath,
for a break from Her continual chore,
as She is worn more than any pair of shoes –
been to more places, been to all places,
She has cried in every small corner of
Nature’s bedroom. She is fearful, but strong
even as She yells, screams, pleads Us to stop,
wishing that we could end Our troubled actions.
i say to Her, i’m sorry for the damage.
i cover her eyes, and kiss Her skin
despite the distance that lies between Us.
i know she is tired. wallowing in
exhaustion. Her days pass. humbly. swiftly.
i also know She is determined to
pull herself from the dark and into the
light. She inspires. She lifts herself up.

Nature – with impeccable force – blows the air around Her,
Her breath dancing on a mirror
like a ghost in the evening.
i cannot see Her face – She never
looks me in the eye, but still – the fog
skews my sight and hides the
blades of the grass and bark of the
tree. i am struck by these wonders,
like the bloom in early march; my
grief leaves me as easy as sight
did in this condition. now, in the
morning, i can only offer my navigation
to a certain extent. i still stumble,
and the anger bubbles like the early
stages of boiling. i rub my eyes
hoping this dream will leave me soon,
knowing that the only way to break the spell is to reach out and wipe the mirror
with my hands