Posted in Misc, Poetry

june ii

I dream of a world in which

I. I can turn cartwheels on loose sand,
in front of too-bright, postcard sunsets
legs pin-straight,
mouth cave-open

II. I part rose petals,
gentle, searching, slow

III. Grass stains colour my clothes,
dot my skin, impossibly green,
the print of the crisp yard

IV. There are voices, there is sound,
there is open space

Take me there.

Posted in Misc, Poetry


the storm clouds roll in to water fresh beginnings
new smells are everywhere:
moist earth, chill wind,
crisp paper,
clothes that reek of stale mall air.
roots grow thick with salty tears
and red-rimmed eyes belie quick smiles,
but the mind flowers.