The Heather and the Slings – A Sicilian Octave

i watched the birds dance among the heather, hopping and chirping in the breath of spring. no thoughts had they just then as to whether the frost, nor the chill that winter would bring. no future pain: neither now, or ever, might hope to still the songs that they might sing. their voices: full, warm…

New Fields

we set off – fearless travelers in tireless pursuit aware of the perils lurking on the periphery – baren satchel bereft of utility endowed with promise – handful of possibility a crumb of opportunity – making camp where others fear to tread lightly into the fangs and furnace lit to bar our path – coated…

The Field – A Cento

i approach a field. a black piano waits cypress and golden rose, plucked at the chill sunsetting, laurel, amaracus, and dark december vine on the uncovered flesh of anyone brave going back to the root is stillness chilled in the path of darkness asking to be bent, taken by firelight freedom from fear, purity of…

Light the Way

she held a candle in her hand at night because it was the only light she had and she watched it whip and flicker behind the door she kept locked and wouldn’t answer even when they knocked she’d sit staring at that candle holding it close til it almost burned her face whispering incandescence –…