All the poems featured on this page are excerpts from my two books The God-like Things (2021) and Moonhold (2019). All rights reserved. 

You can also read my {poem + story} series: 



i like you like

i like you
like oltremarino
a special shade of blue
found only overseas
like Positano
like salt water wearing skin
bare thighs and shy freckles on my arms
like a whole slow day in bed
with silk curtains snaking winds
holding years of miles
like a voice that crosses the land of ice
and changes the course of my blood
like seconds that enter and refuse to leave
tracing promised hands along the quiet archway of my waist
like uncrowded paved streets towards a small white chapel
like eyes of heaven, so clear
like a love ritual repeating i do
each day, as if only to feel
this entire, this
i like you like i love you
sacred, intimate and always

venice in veils

white snow fell
it should have been veils on my shoulders

a snow so white —
it is scraping windows and shredding stars
erasing streets and stairs
i never knew how far we’d walked

a snow so white …
it should have been veils falling on my shoulders
it should have been forever
now only venice is in veils

this is snow, this is snow

and this snow is so white, it is red
and the red cardinal is here
and the red snow begs for ink
snowdrops get here before me
maybe spring really is near

how can life forget?
i am holding a pulse
pumping imprints, shaping skins

and there are loves
greater than all other loves and forevers
i’ll know them only when i am a mother

my prince of blue

because the frail wing
trembling in black possessive mud
is a voice stranded by words and
the night eats words

i walk towards it sharpened by desire
sometimes it seems human

maybe this is the only way
for my pillow to keep its gentle spell of dreams

because i need a place where i can hold you

you should know
i’ve become every altar across three continents

you should know
i’ve become every animal you’ve left behind

my prince of blue
night is better
i am afraid, glorious
and ethereal
water is poseidon and
the sky opens its mouth wide of fireflies
i land cool rain of thousand fires
in ash we are born

sometimes this place feels almost human

tuck away this moon behind my ear

tuck away the moon behind my ear

aura of royal blue
butterflies migrating south
& each word is longer, further
away from where you are

if i ever forget you i’ll know i’ve gone too far

somewhere on the radio
is how i feel about you
is our summer afternoon
leftover flowers gather on the side of the road
each window carries its own
little rain
night car
in winds and wants
designing skybreaks
because the full moon is children’s book gigantic tonight

and maybe it’s the impossibilities that
make us so possible

so come your eyes & tuck away this moon behind my ear

dear stone garden

dear stone garden: you smell of magnolia
damiana, sweet orange and rose

yesterday he built me a country
where he stretched his long shadow and
i laid flat where i could sleep
(there may be mud on the carpet tonight)

i lazy the bed to question my ego
i throw love when loyalty undoes me
press ancient truth into my palm like fortune
for the future i know i begin

i say to the dark, look
everything is shifting into something else
of river’s fate and human time
as every earth goes round his moon

dear stone garden: he’s a night possessor
but life is just souls changing clothes
the carpet will have mud tonight because
there is a nightingale in my heart

changing woman weaving house

the woods are waiting for me tonight, dear stone fruit:

so i run fast over the wild land of returning paths
destiny chasing my heels, i enter
changing woman weaving house
where the otherworld is everywhere

weaving the integrity of emeralds, sacred lovers
tenderness in tents and the souls of the thousand white wolves
and so i weave, dear stone fruit:

to intuit fire i
am moon water i
am white shell

and so we weave, dear stone fruit:
clouds into winds, tides for the fishermen
lyric of hearth and the seed of the eagleman
weaving, spinning the ever creating
web of wyrd

under the constant beat of the only sound there is:
of love

of hands and marriage

his hands are an old marriage
wrinkles of care and i sink into folds
of touch is touch, years in the making
holding on holding strong
but even strength is fragile

i hold steadfast under strain
but i too need to be held

and this is how we loved
years of lines connecting other lines
on palms lines stay and other lines
circle like courting hawks

but the most beautiful part of hands is where they touch now

and now is not too late
and tomorrow is also
not too late

sweet child of mine

sweet child of mine,
i know you worry but look around

twilight shadows have fallen tucking in the earth
and the night is busy too as she wraps stars
into the hair of the goddess moon who is preparing
to dance in lushness with princes from distant lands

so lay your head in peace, sweet child of mine
close your eyes as the earth is closing hers too
take refuge in the quiet corner of your heart
and know that tomorrow the laugh of
the sun’s cheerful head will wake us up again

and i will take your hand
and we’ll figure it out then

november falls

november falls and like deep magick,
it smells of cold amber, cold enough
to hold us to absolute honesty
i walk sharpened by desire to follow
red hawk and wolf for half a moon
along the tender edges, where

something else begins

sometimes trees grow far too wide to hide us
from our eyes but when love comes,
it comes rushing in like ocean
wrapping our world in weightless
blue, a kind of levitation, sublimation
hunter and hunted marry barefoot
in the deep wet black soil, the land remembers
the feet of those who fed it with kindness
when no one was watching
and the uncompromising drumming of the human heart
begins our bodies

of intentional dialogue, of how
we always chose love

of how some tales can only be fully dreamt
when flames rise high inside the hearth
into trust and safety we settle soft
like rocks against the river streams
and it smells of oak burning, amber
and appleskins

what’s left of this loosens
water takes it away

no less purposeful
no less needed
no less loved

to be seen

it is vulnerable to be seen
especially when trembling
i say to the lamppost as
it sees me be seen

and the distance
as if
in a dream
opens – you are there
you watch me watching you watch

it is the possibility
of dreams that gives my heart no rest

and sometimes i don’t even know i am here
until i see you holding me