why when captured by your gaze do all thoughts retreat from my mind.
artifice and pretense melt away revealing truths both unseen and unspoken.
i am left without words.
may i know you better?
[In the style of the Gunpowder Plot Rhyme]
Oh why, oh why, the 4th of July,
Remember, remember, the 5th of November,
A mandate the Tories have not.
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
They called an election
I see no reason
Without introspection
Why gunpowder treason
The sweat tastes of her salt, of course, but also of the chalk that dusts her palms. The room feels warmer than it should right now. She should not be quite this tired, not yet.
Her arm reaches out and curves around cold metal. It gives and pulls both with and against her, balancing her movement,...
I just lit what is likely the last fire of the season. I primarily warm my home with a heat pump these days, but on occasion, the pump needs a bit of an assist, so kindling a fire fills the bill.
Starting a fire has become second nature. I know what to put, where to put it, how to space it all. I...
Winter just fights to hold on, and does not go gently. Even a mild winter, like this one, with only the rarest of harsh, raw days, refuses to retire in favor of spring.
The ground is still hard and grey. Frozen from the year before. Life has not broken through, reasserting itself.
Even so, I rel...
Three too many cloves of garlic. That’s what it takes to get the apartment to smell of soup. I let it simmer over the lowest heat as I come and go randomly adding a vegetable here, some chicken there.
It thickens over time, as the broth becomes.
And I wash the rice, before I toast it in a bit of...
Gazing at the night sky, I try to let go of the shapes that I know. Dippers, and hunters, and heroes — bears, sisters, and swans.
I try to relax my focus and invite the night to shape itself.
Without the shapes, the stories can defy words. They are a tale of the moment that cannot be told, only...
It smelled of old coffee. So many things do.
My finger ran across the dry skin feeling puckers and bumps that I could not see, only feel.
I could see stains though; more coffee, no doubt.
Dust had worked its way into the edge where the skin met the wood. The dryness meant that it was still jus...
I see what the fire reveals of your eyes.
Your soul golden agasinst the brown of your skin makes itself known.
And touches me in a place beyond words before words before the word.
for you i wait not longingly contently completely utterly still within knowing that one day you and i we will be
I wake With my fingers moving Across the coarse cotton of the bed Toward a notion of you. Breathing deep I dream your scent into being. A longing So utterly essential No longer confined Searches the sheets. Wanting nothing more Or less Than to invoke you.
inside there is a space that aches of a ghostly hollow yet to come.
a future memory of a piece of myself yet to be vacant.
I struggle for stillness and simplicity in it all.
and I fail.
You came to me the day you died
But, not to say goodbye No
To ask me simply to remember.
there are joyful seeds planted before the rain.
and I sit in wonder of joy
while all I can do is smell the storm.
I understand rain feeds growth
But, I cannot find the place in me that knows this.
I struggle to know.
And, I know that if I would only cease the struggle, the knowing would...
Easthampton – 27 Originally uploaded by sagefire.
On the stairs I stopped
And in silence I watched
Quietly slowly wholly.
