zinc words & images

  • 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…

  • 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.

  • 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…

  • 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…

  • The Valley and Its Way

    Brittle wishes Beneath inkwells And round shaped vowels. Clinical machine, who Are you That burns ash, A fire shoreline? We, them Crisping in the sky Unto a copper morning, A clouded patina.

  • Dinner

    I say a prayer Over This plate of rice And question whether I am worthy Of One Single Grain. I know this is not What prayer is for. There is no comfort In silence. And the wintering Of my bones Is the only answer To my questions. Short and hard Are my days, The design…

  • Listening

    I let the pigeon go. It wept in my hand and ringed its neck, left and right. Against a brick wall, I was shattered from listening to the coo that never left.

  • Long Walk

    Regulate my temerity, but lust for the bastions, where roses and a deep sigh wait. Beekeeping myself against waxed rows and granular helpings of pine-scented lips. Retire this feeling beneath the decking boards and the sunlight relish, that lift my shoulders beyond where I knew they could be. Shanks and beatitude for the trees and…