themudlands

[themudlands]

She is a white flame

running toward the forest,

a scream in the dark,

a fight for a life

in the dirt,

a prayer answered,

rain ~

"Am I dead," she asked?

her arms,

wing-spread

.

.

.

the angel, p. 2

.

[themudlands]

A mud pool for a past life made new, an angel

.

.

.

[themudlands]

She learned,

frosting

does indeed catch fire

when you make a wish

on a folklore

at high noon,

her white pinafore aflame

by a mirror

catching the sun

too soon

.

.

.

the angel p. 1

.

[themudlands]

Our spring table

is a leftover winter

of twig-bark

and bone,

a feast

for the dogs ~

Let us pray

for a summer

of pickled flower,

honeycomb

.

.

.

[themudlands]

The gift of winter

is bone broth

for a brittle mind

~

Star drips candle

on pine

by the waxing phase

of the moon

.

.

.

.

Christmas Poems

.

[themudlands]

mud pies in the wild

.

.

.

[themudlands]

There is now mud land

where the moss flats used to be;

the past is mineral-rich

but too heavy to be green ~

.

.

.