zinc words & images

  • On the Walk

    Come to me When you are done measuring Yourself against the wind. I will put down my rake And welcome you as if You had never left. The chair faded from afternoons of sun And nights of dew Will be waiting In the northwest corner of the garden, Where you can watch The birds create…

  • Measured

    I took the bird wing from the shelf And placed it in a pouch of red gingham. A bundle misshapen and lonely, save For its solitary companion, a tin ring, found trapped in the quarter slot Of a gumball machine. I do not know Where this gift will find its resting place. From my place…

  • In Absentia

    Hips and depression don’t go together. Used too much or too little. Either way the body compulses until materiality dissipates. My fleshy corporea hides a thing, brittle, like newspaper, carbonized, though it works harder than any laboring hand or industrial composition. “I think it wants to kill me” or at least, to cauterize my humanity.…

  • The Young Architect

    In the fall, we would make a house and take turns being the mother. There were no walls, only an architect’s plan made of crisp, crepe leaves. Rake. Neat lines. Making sure to leave openings for the door.

  • Depressive Interstate Communication

    I am not sure how to say, “I miss you” without fearing your reply. Days, months and years came upon me quickly, so that now, the past seems distant and I seem callous. I was drowning and still I circle the edge of a pond that I am at the bottom of. If today is…

  • Musings on a Single Topic #2

    What are phantoms made of? stardust memories The mist from lava dropping into the ocean ectoplasm open doors blowing curtains words spoke softly dim lamps with antique shades beaded curtains crackling branches padded steps on a wood floor lost loves good advice, in retrospect dappled forest light letters photographs portraits historic markers a large single…

  • Der Blauen Kunstler

    When you paint a house on canvas it must be blue, for this is the color of home. The soft robin’s egg edges of motherly relationships, the deep indigo of sleep and dreaming begins at your hand. Reunions, a pale sky of ephemerous greetings and embraces. However wayward the color of distant foothills and city…

  • Musings on a Single Topic #1

    What is left behind? Me You We Paper clips and candy wrappers Friends from high school Friends from college A car, in the parking lot of a bar, when you’ve had too much to drink A CD, a favorite one, in 1998, in your ex’s car Doggie bags full of leftovers A credit card A…

  • Grower Hope

    Holding this blueberry in my hand, I do not know where it came from or how it will grow. The ground is too shallow here, stained with saltwater and filled with debris. Skree is really all it is, no place for this tiny thing to root. I must be delicate, otherwise its blue will leave…

  • Making the Night

    Stringed night Moonbeam notes Play along Crowns and crests. Billowing darkness, So rich I could grasp And fold the warm night Toward my body, having It for myself. Lyric leaves Whisper, sowing my mind With drowsy songs That open my Skin to every breeze. Forest floor, papered, Over time gathers The lunar composition That streams…