Garden Wild

I live outside
of things.

I creep close
to the bushes
and grunt
in the leaves
with the hedgehogs.

I breathe in
sweet jasmine
I breathe out
all the houses
I used to know.

My dress hangs
on a rose thorn
in a closet of
moonlit marigolds.

I am captured by
green wild owl
eyes and
none of the places
I used to know.

My face turned
towards sun
my heart a
flaming bird
burning as it goes.


An Almost Quiet Night

It’s an almost
quiet night
faint stars quiver
pulse and
whisper an
ecstatic dance
of light.

She’s an almost
silent moon
cloud face open
silk veil broken
drawn across
her rocky ruin.

Not quite seen
the cast of night
a face of light
a naked flame.

Not quite heard
the beat of stars
the drum of sun
ungentle games.

She’s an almost
naked moon
her song broken
scratched unspoken
seen unseen
she takes her flight.


There is a slow opening
a fragrance startling
eyebrows lifted
a simple truth
in a chaos of leaves
one golden flower
hidden by tangles.

and shivering we
were led by its
fragrance to find
a bloom more
precious than
a baby’s first breath
a gold ring slipped
over a finger or
the spring, and the first
strong ray of sun
higher and sweeter
than any other.


I know copper.
It’s a different
kind of red, a
passion cloaked
in caramel waves
or autumn
leaves lit by
late afternoon’s
gentle hope.

I know it is
weighed in palms
or scales of
lesser metals
used, flattened
pounded, bent
to a purpose
hidden in pipes
below surface.

But I promise
with lesser eyes
to only gaze at
rivers richly
mudded that
pour down a
mountain like
the laugh
of a girl or the
glint of a child’s
chestnut curls.

I know copper.
How it changes
when caged to
a stranger green

free, it
a heart