I have lost the gift of tongues,
or perhaps I never knew how to speak at all.
In dreams, I have seen the tower crumbling
and felt my throat closed against my fellow humans,
my voice crumbling, too,
never to be heard again.
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Category Archives: Poetry
Incantation – a poem
Somnus
Sleep descends like a bridal veil,
gossamer, pale, and translucent,
like the vine-vein traced eyelids,
trimmed in dark lace, falling.
Somnium
Dreams are solid, all too real
to those who dream with open eyes.
I dreamed a single, silent flame,
close enough to warm the glossy night.
Sonor
Whisper, or you’ll wake the sleeper
and brush away the drifting dreams,
break them like filaments of silk
with that errant vibration.
Sophia
I can believe what I see in sleep,
the wisdom of the silence,
breathing in echoes of echoes of echoes:
“Be still.”
Sors
Like the fall of dice, or cards drawn,
each random synapse fires
with a certain aim, a touch,
a nightly glow of prophecy.
Heat – a poem
Sweet and apple-crisp, the autumn evenings fell
in twilit memory.
Gone, those autumn evenings now.
Summer heat constricts, cloaking skin in sweat.
Still, I have memory.
To a somewhere-lover – A Poem
Please introduce me to myself.
When I pass you in some hall,
let our eyes meet.
And when you see me in the street,
let me know you.
Tell me how I’ve waited,
and tell me how I take my tea
in the white afternoons.
Tell me how I read in the near-dark,
listening to false rain.
Describe my mornings,
mocking-bird wings and the smell of my coffee.
List my books –
the ones beside the bed
and the ones I keep between my lips.
Tell me that you heard the words I scratched
into the tops of picnic tables
and the lines I drew across time.
Tell me, love, for you have been here all along.
I carried you in my heart.
Not Birdie to You – A Poem
Don’t compare her to a songbird
when she is plover-sharp and raven-clever
with falcon eyes and eagle pride
and talons never meant to perch on fingers.
Left brain – a poem
I am a case study in creation,
deconstructing souls even as my larynx forms songs.
What is happening up there where the intellect resides,
between synapse and stardust?
And where does it go when the sparks die?
Gilt – a poem
As I await the final gilding of the leaves
in the crown of the oak, life rises up around me,
warm, in shades of amber. Fury of peace
and stillness of motion together encircle a frail humanity.
The darkness that falls now is gentle,
like a friend’s touch, or morning tea,
and quells the darkness behind me.
There is no cause for fear.
Drift – a poem
Becoming light,
in truth, I am falling,
slow and soft like motes of dust.
Downward still,
sometimes I think I am rain,
and I know the earth lies somewhere below.
Home for Christmas – a poem
An excelling beauty,
the hedgerows, snow-cloaked
beneath a sky that never ends,
exulting in all the hues of diamond.
Frost is a thing eternal:
in the effervescent air,
even time is frozen.
And I wonder how I ever left,
and when I shall come home.
Boreal – a poem
The mists of winter creep into my bones
a slow hibernal draught of frosty sleep
refracting shades of crystal, rainbow tones
and drawing dewy dreamers deep and deep.
Like icy ferns unfurling o’er my skin,
the twilight rest of Boreas begin.
