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The Quiet Weight of Guilt
Those weeks where you feel constantly on alert but too bone-tired to respond.
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Acorn Fire
Sometimes the acorn needs fire to populate.
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You Are the Musical Bridge: an Ode to Mark LaRue
You Are the Musical Bridge: an Ode to Mark LaRue
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The Three
An incantation of unfinished selves.
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I Measure My Shadow
A poem about pain, reckoning, and quiet forgiveness.
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Does Death Multiply Like Rabbits?
In the quiet spaces between life and death, I often find myself listening for echoes. This poem began as a meditation on mortality, but became something stranger, more rhythmic—like a song you remember from a dream.
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It May Be True
This came to me during meditation. I’m not sure if it’s a poem, a lament, or a love letter to someone gone too soon. I didn’t mean to write it—it just arrived. Sometimes grief finds a shape before we do.
