Quiet Rests in Me

Taken down to the ruins
Where silence begets silence.
Death eases out of rusty sands.
Oblivion cries wordless,
Face pink, desperate, mad,
Birthed in the cracks
Of shattered stones.

So here I take my rest,
Plopped down amongst tearful
Faces forgotten
In mother earth’s curdled,
Rotten breast.
And in me
Green tendrils
Press behind my pores,
Twist, stretch, curl
Through, around, into
The parched tubes
You call “me,” drunk
On the sightless, soundless, senseless
Liquor not there.

My teeth a fan of petals,
Tongue laced with pollen.
My breath spring.
My kiss summer,
Sweet in the salty sands,
Live, throbbing
In the blank face of silence.
Here, in a sunburnt waste,
I rest in quiet,
And quiet rests in me.


Hear Me

You hear
The wind’s whispers.
You hear
Him spin silence
Into heartbroken songs,
Turn hesitant night
Into soaring sound.
His breath
You hear
Raking through your hair,
Sweeping autumn leaves
Along the paved, still street.

So why don’t you
Hear me?

Alone in Company

I spent a year
In a pixie’s garden
Where winter washes
Over the lilacs
In a wave of crystal frost,
And summer surges
In the heavy, humid air
With the bustle
Of a thousand bees
Filling their combs past the brim.

And always
Nestled in the shade
Of an oaken giant,
Cloaked in shadow
And midmorning dew,
Was the resting body
Of the green-thumbed fairy,
A sultry body
I always knew,
I never saw.