Tag: betwixt and between

  • beaivi

    kissing the horizon
    she slipsbone pale
    fingers slick of hope
    at return on the
    other side of night
    we wave and
    give to grave our
    many pasts on
    black wings
    of the crow

  • simple things:

    simple things:
    four different ways
    skies and stone
    above and below
    and those places
    left in between

    black sheen brow
    crossed of blood
    cut ashen
    i turn my
    flint head away

  • val sans retour

    Photo by shahin khalaji on Unsplash
    given to pressing petals of
    her fragrant valley sheltered
    drinking her butterfly wine
    grown over gone under
    lingers myrrh sweet inside
    slumber her summer slopes
    tracing dew along her lines...
    who would wish for return
    after lingering this vale?

  • under her lacuna moon

    come this solstice night
    & follow me dark river
    nadir kissed & ragged lips
    under her lacuna moon

    come this solstice night
    & twist shadow at murder
    cross silver ashen pale
    to carry her winter words

    come this solstice night
    we stand stone whores with
    blood marked cheeks
    under her lacuna moon

  • snow queen

    phantasm i the winter white
    flowing through empty
    fingers trace rail wood ruddy
    dust undisturbed to wake

    linger long hallways and
    snow queen her dwelling
    in the still failing faint,
    unseen her dark eyes

  • under

    stone blind the woodpost
    and standing antler pale
    we nightwing under

    falling into her lovi
    love, fallen in her
    let us dream a song-her
    let us fall within her home

    we heartdrum blackwing
    at edge lake drift snow
    we break our under

    lovi, we dream us,
    deep within her home

  • feast

    i feel a drift
    coming on &
    may take the fade
    on a spell;
    nothing ever remains
    for the feast
    at me

  • empty

    Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash
    empty of understanding...

    when i say i am stone,
    i am not stone, i am stone

    when i say i will river
    i do not river, i just river

    when i branch at tree
    i am not branch, but i am tree

    when i say of she i dream
    it is not she, but it is me

    these are times my vandal mouth
    should be sutured shut
    before someone sees
    these broken words i bleed

    soon, no one will call and read nothing back to me.

  • stripped

    carving obsidian beyond bone
    scraping down to marrow
    still more: how can you cut further?

    by slipping to shadows of shadows
    to places behind the behind
    kissing flint in the darkest of times

    we grew of flowers once
    we grew of trees, now
    snow stained scarlet...

    stripped to heartwood
    we stand the granite over doors

  • Campfire Sessions — 07dec25

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    Something about the campfire and the silent ghosts feels more burden than gift, so I slap my knees to signal that I need to get moving along as we do in the upper midwest, vocalize the requisite “welp” and stand. A few of the spirits turn their grey eyes to me, grant me a lingering look and then those empty eyes return to the flames. Not even a farewell wave then — the winter cold must be slowing them down today. Or maybe it is the daylight’s glare across the fresh snow that makes them blind. We gather in the late morning, although it isn’t without precedent. They prefer the glow of the flames against the backdrop of night, I’ve been told, but they will never turn down a flame lit in their honor if there is one burning in their area.

    I don’t bother with any parting words. Not out of spite, but respect. I am mirroring their inclinations.

    (more…)