two crows fly over
tree that is still holding on
to her summer skirt
May the fruits of summer keep you fed this winter, dear reader.
I have learned that when people are determined to see me through a dark lens, they won’t be talked out of it. I have, however, learned that it’s their lens not my truth. That’s a good feeling.
singing bowl rosewater and tears fingers pressed on tender skin the xx our union burst of sandalwood in moment of surrender candelight shimmering a shower of sweat and whispers of devotion morning light
“Mom, why don’t you talk to John anymore? “Because he’s not my friend, Gigi. He lied to me about something really important. He’s not in my life.” “Well, I want him in my life. I’m gonna call him when I get my own phone. Please tell me you didn’t delete his number.” “Okay, I won’t…
“Inside this river there is a moon which is not a reflection. From the river bottom the moon speaks. I travel in continuous conversation with the river as it goes. Whatever is above and seemingly outside this river is actually in it. Merge with it, in here or out there, as you please. This is…
entropic juice drips wildly down Creation’s chin mad, bifurcated dancing
I think this little entry was one of all-time favorite mini-collages. Art-making makes me happy.