Peace Angel

You ripple
soft blue
black wings

a manta ray
curling under
clear salty

I feel the thin
wake of your

bringing beauty
to the cry
of my pinched

I want to follow
the curve
of your wings

that great glide
deep through


I keep your
shadow light
in view
as I dive

the wake
of my heart

I descend
in search
of your silent


The Black House

Here’s a darker poem than what I normally post here.  I’ve been reading Neil Gaiman, who inspires me sometimes, when I’m in a more January place.

Sometimes I live in a black house
I don’t know why
sky blue walls turn to charcoal
and the ceiling is
a starless, moonless sky
the only light is
a dim, red bulb
in the corner
so I don’t fall
down the stairs.
I don’t know why.
It just happens
maybe there were
too many hard glances
from my love
a friend
broke my necklace
a man with
worms in his hair
brushed against me
for whatever reason
the house is black now
but don’t feel too bad
for me
I have company
the ghouls are playing poker
the spiders prepare
black pudding
with their many arms
and the wraith
the wraith
who looks
like my love
just put out
the light
and invites me

The Moon World

Birds stop singing
and look to the moon
when the sun grows silent.

Quietly, candles
brighten against
the deepening night.

Shadow whispers,
thin by day
grow full
in the
moon world.

We walk bold
in mid-afternoon
bright as two
singing jays.

When you go
as all things do
and take the sun
away with you-

what light will I know,
what fire will grow
in the moon world?