She did lift her skirt
a mycelium thread first weaves itself around my heart
like a web of nerves just for perceiving and sensing the world
then inserts itself—exploring my innermost secret chamber
where lives the name that cannot be spoken
a mycelium thread first weaves itself around my heart
like a web of nerves just for perceiving and sensing the world
then inserts itself—exploring my innermost secret chamber
where lives the name that cannot be spoken
“The more they love the soil the more they love each other.” — Emmanuel Karisa Baya
I Something inside me has to die I realize in the two AM blackness for something new to be born perhaps you know the feeling you don’t know exactly what…
Tell me please, dear soul, when you walk upon the Earth do the soles of your feet touch your mother with your heart? And when you walk with this love…
I heard tell last night from a woman who lives in my heart the two of you were talking and discovered you each know me “I think he would say…
I fear I shall be so vulnerable
in a world gone mad
in a world where even the butterflies
need human love to survive
blossoming inside
this beauty I see in them
hiding within
I. Perhaps you can tell me should you know Is this what it is to listen to one’s soul To become still enough quiet enough inside like one brittle January…