~
A blood promise
On the threshing floor
--a strand named Skull of Sidon.

The sunset passage
No longer a place for them,
The acceptance of absolute negation
Remedios the beauty.

Saint Fishermen churn in the waves
Crushing grapes from the estate,
Even the girl with the silver eyes,
Only then will their house be blessed.

Women uncharted,
But prisoned on watery shore,
Hum a silent prayer.

This is atonement day,
May grace be with them
In all the days ahead.
~

"An Ill‑FittingHalo"

tilted— never quite resting
where the light intends
edge catching on stray hairs
like thoughts
that refuse to be tamed
a slip of brightness
sliding into my eyes blinding,
not blessing

I walk with it anyway—
crooked grace
clinking faintly in the wind
sometimes it spins
like a coin still deciding
which face to show the world
and sometimes
it is only shadow remembering
the gold it once held





.