[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

Like a lettuce head l...

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 k...

Easthampton – 27 Originally uploaded by sagefire.

On the stairs
I stopped

And
in silence
I watched

Quietly
slowly
wholly.

upon waking

with the warm glow
of you
utterly present

i sigh
a smile.

still listening

to your eyes

and
all their stories
that i wait to know.