a day of whispering bones

Happy Halloween!

passed your usual faith

how embarrassing, had to redo this because I always screw up “past” vs “passed”

godlike

the right wrong

will

dream disciples

angels & demons

a garden of peace, child

A garden of peace, child
Bowed lips, each a cherry blossom petal
Cheeks, satin and pink-rosed pinched by heaven
Your small hands–the hands of an angel, clasping their hidden treasures of bees balm and forever dreams
Diamond clusters of baby’s breath adorn your wrist, delicate dewdrops on wind and wing
How your dark chestnut hair swirls with endless copper beech highlights–so warm and inviting, the soft yellow ducks have come to slumber beside you
Blankets of hyacinth and lavendar protect your perfect skin, white as daffodils
You, a beautiful, sweet Lily, to forever bloom in the loving heart of your adoring mother and all those who cherished and nurtured your blessed life
for my cousin, Marie and her sweet, Lily

for Lily

what is motherhood if not by your side
watching you my love
what is pure in my life holding by a wisp within your deconstructing body
sweet child how I need to scream inside the ocean
smack the gods
embrace the spirits
where you won’t hear my pain
these arms and legs of mine so powerful
if I could give them and live to hold you still,
carry you as I have done across these years
never with regret
all that I am
wrapped around your life
such beauty in your speaking eyes, your soul-plumped mouth
how you’ve grown these past seasons
metal-bar suns and rubber-tube moons following along your flesh
yet
you and I have traveled so much longer than they believed possible
now
you grow a bit tired
your little body weary from the outside
fatigue settling some on the inside where my care holds you together
but still fierce in your heart
in your eyes of earth
you are my rock
you are my joy
not in any time
in any space
of any moment
will I ever grow tired
of your heart living inside mine

Gallean with ragdoll

to my cousin, Marie for her beautiful daughter, Lily xo

leave it to a cartoon pig

trying to get at something
I can’t quite reach from the ground
there is no sleeping in slumber
no resting for the restless
hurriedly living to stamp personal honors on crowded individuality
some methodically hiding to avoid the same
embracing or effacing, the certain weightlessness of our heavy conclusion
this finite fact of our infinite fiction
depending on where the cord has been cut
a lifeline, a noose, a kite string
we enter
we exit

“…that’s all folks”
(leave it to a cartoon pig to shame us into reality)

Peppermint Pigs

Peppermint Pigs