perhaps his heart is too bright for your boxy, measured world perhaps his wonder isn’t brandable in your tight space, rat race bullies come and bullies go (they tend to find each other) love remains truth remains (free the boxes)
![angel of the quake [or the patriarchy is crumbling]](https://kymberleedellaluce.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/14481-768x466.jpg)
angel of the quake she clings to his leg holding up the fractured pillars (white marble with purple veins) she clings to him looking up with such devotion (the master feeds her) she clings to his leg holding on to a crumbling world she is in the rubble now her hands bleeding seeking his eyes…
![bricolage project day 13 [jungle]](https://kymberleedellaluce.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/1444770451607.jpg)
The book sitting closest to me this morning was The Poetry of Pablo Neruda so today’s word comes from that. The word is jungle. Such a vivid image gets conjured in my imagination with that word. Shadows, panthers, scary things that might kill me. Places unknown. I don’t feel like writing today. Just playing with…
in autumn in the burgeoning light of a new day the songbird eats honeysuckle fruit getting stronger reclaiming gifts she once left behind to share freely in the rain she is cleansed and renewed returning home
Self-care has taught me to linger in the company of those who listen with the ear of their heart. There are those who listen with the ear of their broken heart. They hear pain and look for weakness, they look for holes to enter and often carry a cutting knife. They know nothing but suffering…
yesterday was a different kind of conversation with petals flying and thunder booming in the end, a soft a rain fell against the night * this morning songbirds are warbling the ancient trees are still and plaintive a jay screeches a call to action as the sky stretches * tomorrow is not here yet