The Apple Picker

I was of the trees
Hotly, fully, soot-soaked woman.

Bearing lips and knees
Slow feet sliding across night-cobbled streets
Through silty swamps and constellations;
Starkly naked in the drinking dark.

My blind steps straying off the course,
My lips: not braced for strike,
and saying all of the vulnerable things
To glasses of water, and thieves alike.

A white-hot bud of useless thunder rumpled loudly through me.
I was softly smoldering,
Before I gave birth to me:

I wandered, hips and knees and grace and and map-less, somehow,
Came to this place.


I have so many unwritten letters:
You could pluck me from a winter vine
And intertwine with me.
But if you leave me,
Warmly, fiercely free
I will grow
Into a glowing apple.

Silver Soul Surprise

Hold the bowl of your hips
mouthward, toward the moon

Howl out tenderness (Death is just a room)

Scrape stars from your lips
Sunrise: coming soon.

Dew drops drape your hips
Pull off your cocoon

pray UP your wolf kiss
To the fading night:
Perfect tender lips
Take up luscious light
Sky skims off the black:
Throws off starry shawl
Nothing that you lack,
now you’re standing tall.

Stand up naked now:
Shake this house down right
rippling party-pray
At the fading night

Walk your own footsteps
String your own high-moon
Hold the dome of sky
read the sacred runes.

Thread the needle with this: liquid-love-desire.
Climb your homespun rope,
Let it take you higher.

Crawl back into this:
Wet earth,
mother dune:
whispering fierce and whole,
brown and bathed in moon.

Take your little home: breasts and teeth and bones
Bent armed praying tome
Slide slow back into
Womb-dune torn with tombs

Look death in her eyes;
darkness always looms

Find yourself within:
Body room
house of skin and hips
Tender temple boom
Soul that tears and rips;
Heart that calls and Blooms.

To The Abuser

There will always be a place for you; 

A little song book in the heart, 

With rumpled once-wet pages,

And a song’s half-baked black start.


You can call after me 

All you like, in the night

Like a spry black bird




Like a stone in mid-flight. 


I’ll hold up my face//

My last love cloaks your hammer

(I’ll wear your torn lace

If you speak my stammer).


I meet you again on the path of this spiral.

You will drink from my cup

of sweet indigo ink.

Forgiveness the nectar, 

your plump lips stained pink, 

Again I fill up- still I rise (though I sink).


I alone hold the plaque in my heart marked ‘beloved’

I alone tear the bread and break the cups on the stone

I alone walk the spiral

I alone mend my bones 

Now you count all your fingers and hang up the phone 

I alone walk this torn path, sew the end to the start

(But Bless you for the beating, 

For the beating of my heart). 

This morning I woke with some peace in my bones,

And smiled around at the chorus of souls

All feathered and furled in their small human homes,

tied together and curled up with sinew and stones,

All walking the world and drinking the air

With lungs on loan

And hearts that tear.

All blinking at birth,

All singing death’s moan,

All tethered to earth,

And never alone.

Something In You

Something in you is changed,
Something wild and right:
The part of you that is animal shines
Out wetly
In the dew tonight.
You howl
and drink the midnight sap,
held holy, up, in ancient laps
of ash and elm
and dewy realms//
you rise and sink in cold and inky moon glow
you call out in a voice that only Crow knows.
You unfold your head and dance,
entranced with your own shadows.


The Shadow, The Heart, And The Void.

My body speaks to me in dialogues of pain.

She is showing me
Where there are cracks in my sacred temple
She is showing me the memories of how they chiseled in
To the shadowy nooks
And were lost (but always there)

below sea level.

My body reaches up to me ‘You are the librarian of this castle.
You sweep the dust, and make neat all the nooks,
But you never stoop to see the words torn into the inner eyelids of the stones.
You wash the walls but you never read the graffiti.’
She says ‘Here is where you hurt.’
And here.
These are the holes you need to know,
But don’t deny them,
Because they let the moonlight in
And little moon-made flowers grow out of the cracks and crags the light seeks with its nimble silver fingers.

Make of the holes an altar.
Pour a salty scream or two into it, and then build the space up anew.
Find the most jagged places and press your lips against them until the skin gives way and when you see the blood, admire it for its color and the way it catches the light.

Carry a bowl to catch your tears in and love them all like little wishes dancing out into the great spiral
Of the night.
All the edges give you so much space
For flowers, and stars, and all the things of magic.
Keep these broken walls, but keep them neat and kind and clean
Sweep the dust and listen to her stories.

Call out to the night and finally agree:
We are dark when we are in shadow, except for when we dance.
The broken places are all welcome to dwell among the books and all the candles of the temple.
We will write them new stories and release this redblue fire out into the bundle of the sky.

Our doors will stay kindly cracked and the windows of our eyes stay open

But we will never
Razor sharp people

To dance within our pink hallways

In The Beginning

In the beginning, there was a fury of noise

Black cloaked maidens spat ribbons of gray stars,

Arcing into brilliant rivers,

And shaking off their casings,

They fell across the empty blackness;


into a white, etheric dance.


In the beginning,

Ancient spirits peaked through invisible doors and

Plucked through thickets of stars


They pulled their black hems across the threshold-


They came: solemn, dark, demonic, godlike, gross, and gay-

The sorceress of night, the grandmother of Fae

They came one after another

With long and timeworn faces

To watch the unfurling of the Great Spiral.


In the beginning, you were there-

And I.

We sat dewy-lipped with silent smiles

In the center of a great seed,

Watching as All-Everything snaked across the sky:


Illuminating our new veins, lightning of each color

Stained our umbilicus with pregnant possibility.


The greatest drum pounded proud songs out into new ears

And the first tears were formed and fell across the face of the night,

Watering the seeds that would sprout into All-Life


We held our hearts and whispered songs

Into new and unborn palms

Breathing in and out anew

In the sacred tongue that filled our lungs and slipped from lips before the dawn of time.


It was there waiting for us,

And written in the sky:


The secret language of everything.


It is there still

It lingers silent in the center of the great eye

For us to slip across it,

To slide with impossible beauty,

To cry the first words….


To breathe fresh stars

Into the spiral anew.

The Ritual

Fashion an altar of the souls of your feet:
Sticks and stones and ocean bones//
Save the thickest tears for the center.

Let your roots roll out from underneath you
Until you find the perfect place (you will know it)

It is untouched by the wind.

This is the place where you are tethered.

Lay your stories down here
Lay down all your wind and rain.

Pluck a twig from the right tree and lay it across just so.
Bleach your bones in the sun

One deep scream
Three drops of rich umber blood

It is finished.

Welcome Back To The Land Of The Living

Welcome back to the land of the living

Look at how your hand begins to pulse pinkly now; do you remember?

There were veins and they carried moments into your heart. You had eyes and they used to open- see?

You climbed over the fence from the endless fields of once-grass:
Dry and wind-splintered now.
And the sky without stars held you down like a clean glass window.

You are a beetle, needle-pierced and pressed in velvet

You straddled the worlds and moon and sun both disavowed you.

Do you remember their stony faces as you floated through the gate?
We will take you back, because you left a small tea candle burning
On the sill of your brow.
You bent your will on the wind like a sail and when the storm came, you surrendered

We will take you back now into the hearth of life.

It is beating, do you remember?

You left us once, but only like a cow that gives its hide to a drum, and something small and musical still whispered up from the empty space once graced by the letters of your name.

silently, you pressed small seeds into the ground, and the burial mounds all stared up at you in wonder,

as little gray-blue petals pushed out of the pores of the earth; her ashen face now flowering sullenly.

We looked at you then and saw two wheels spinning in opposite directions.

We beckoned you back and you dully slid over the land toward the band that bundles earth to ever-after.

your leg became entagled on the metal brambles of barb, as you blindly made the passage over cold-dead-ancient stones.

You scraped your knees on scorched shadows and the skeletons of stories.

You slid away then,
And the people said it was over:

What was you
had gone home
Like salt from stones,
And the sun licked the blood from your bones,
And your lips slipped away with your moans
Sunken ships////
In blue shadows.
Your Split pelvis sank in the shallows. Life loosely lay across it, undecided.
Your teeth broke like ice on the empty nest of your breath.


Your eyes opened like pales of oceanic milk:: blinking at a vast new field of stars.
They spoke out, and in an ancient dance, they said to the lost council of everyone:

You are going to hurt
When you’re walking this earth
Crawling lost through this dirt

you will crawl bent-armed and backwards, scratching Lillith’s rhythms into the skull of the new world
You will carry the black moon in the hull of your pelvis and your womb will breathe your tears and all your stories out onto the earth.

Even your blackest seeds will carry life within their bellies.


We will take you back.


Tarot And Tea

I am making soft and purple waves in this world; I am drinking in tarot and tea,
I am slicing my stories on silver slivers of Moon.
I am seducing myself
Back into Self Love,
Basking in a new womb.
Sliding into One Rhythm with my slow hips-
My twisted spine, my stained fingertips,
And all the stories spilling through my skin in black ink.