Small movements lift white sheer curtains,
As I sit at kitchen tables in silence,

Rain touches the window like a morning kiss,
Pulling me from a dream, or a seance by a string.
The breeze navigates the house like a breath or a flood:
Silk falling from silk,  
Words falling from bridges,
This air is a pleasant dream.

Choose what is real or not,
Resurrect lingering memories like  
Transparent negatives overlaid in your hands:
There is a light and dark,
But an inverse of each.
Sewn together in a warm mess,
Liquid and melting light in time
Habitually, it drips from your fingers
Like rituals of burying artifacts
Far beneath the sun.








Before the leaves fell and the frost protected thoughts in a numb glaze,
I fell into the steam of chamomile tea,  
Pervasive yellow sweetened air
Swimming through medicated words like a needle before surgery,
A silence that amputates and eradicates
Hauntings of resurrection.

Two candles on a mirror.
Lighter clicks, sparks, reflects.
Dual realities.
Two sisters, burning from
Separated souls.


A gold coin widens slowly with heat,  
the room bathes in energy, clear and warm.  


Heartbeats flicker over white canvas sonograms.  
Evening light spills from the horizon,
An overturned glass of iridescent breath.  
Clouds hover like a ghost, a new melody of space.  

I blow candles out.  
Their love remains.





Under the mirror, the memory of light unfolds, a mitosis of energy.  I regard the extinguished flame, tranquil smoke running through the room like a prayer.  Under the wooden table, a carving with the initials of his name.


The love wanders to your open hands.  They move and smear with oil paint, mixing the sage green tablecloth, kinetic orange heats a canvas.


Nothing is the same
Relaxing, water replaces air
Everything is different now.
Nothing is the same.

Sunlight still leaks from the window like  
Dripping faucets against a clogged drain.  Her hair was turning blonde again, like when they were younger.
Humming, she was
Remembering his hands



















An emotional limbo where forgiveness waits
Intermediate neglect in oblivion
Lapsing into another’s life,
What’s inside you is not like anyone else
Every instant, a new reflection

More than sinking, less than swimming

Float on,  float on,  float on,  float away

I wonder what opaque transition of sight
Will allow us to exist?  
Upside down, lights up, sheets drawn,


Where you and I can meet halfway.


Lyrics of inorganic hymns emerge
Rationing daylight, resurrecting Eden in his eye -  
Sisterhood is a ghost of the seasons.

Written on your palms in
Smoldering greens to golds,
Bronze ferns purify  
Fragile angelic steps
As we step into the water.

Silver cotton grass frames the trail we walk.  
Sunlight adhering to skin,  
Condensing memories.





I do not want to remember us this way—

Toxicity hissing from floodlit walls

Filtering body and soul into—

how or when we love each other.




Masculine figures melt into the painting.  Silence resonates as they die.  

Dew collects on the leaves.  They slide down to the earth and surround the bodies.

A gold cut glows from under the doorway,
It saturates illuminated stitches.

The room was clean.  And she was painting.
I’ll always remember her.

I wrote your words on porcelain leaves
Petrified in lucid air
Shimmering like wounds
In true light, I paint  
Illusory rendered responses

Who’s to say the scene is not real – she speaks, breathes, walks in light?  My hands?  Her soul between the leaves?  
Belief in what?  
A reflective gospel.

Palette altars scatter the earth.  
Habituative, neurotic wildflowers  
Crawl from mirrored pools inverted in innocence,
Inviolate rhythms, hymns of absence.

Les fleurs suivent avec tous les pas que tu prends
et tout ce qu'ils fleurissent
Elle m’aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, a la folie, pas de tout /

The leaves are falling, they shatter form syllables of your voice.
















It is in itself,

[As I look at her ghost]

Love, I am already in the ground.

There is a ladder in the woods,
A tall V pointing up, four trees connected  
Unwound DNA of our bodies  
dreams of intertwining above the sun.

Two sisters climb down either side,
Metal feet spear painted leaves.

There is a forest between the ladder,
And beyond, a glassless window of autumn.
Fallen leaves like angels’ slender bodies
Reading in the dirt; old wine and stale memories rinsing their mouths.

Painted leaves sway above us like cathedral glass

They categorize memories of light
Illuminating ripe windfall on forest floor

She walks South from the setting sun,
Blonde hair bathed in colors of heaven
A boy follows her path with an orange cat

Where is the wilderness of childhood?  
The time spent where you and I were together,  
trapped, open yet closed?

The canvas glows fervently  
Wandering between blind contours of trees
Arms outstretched; feet bare
Toes drift on warm earth.

What did I say to him?

Have you ever liked someone so much you regret meeting them?

It's been four years
And I still wear our rings

But im forgetting about him
He doesn’t visit my dreams anymore
Melodies of his laughter,
his steady heartbeats,
his soft breathing
replaced by grainy voicemails on repeat repeat repeat
I     wish     I     could     touch     you     again

12% beer on her front porch planting flowers on valentines day,
Remembering the short-cut on the running trail
Heatstroke and search parties
Ravines swallow last goodbyes.

A new and empty house
Unassembled furniture
You died on a Wednesday
And I told you:
“you better not leave me to do this alone.  I can’t do this by myself”
I look at the disembodied, sprawling collage of wood on the floor.

“I can’t do this by myself”

All that responds in the empty house is deafening static before the voicemail cuts.