Ancient rocks, ancient like glaciation, tumbled through centuries and through time, and etched their way into the earth. The wind sounded like water, like waves, pushing though leaves of the highest trees, waving above and so below, all around me. A bird repeated a stanza, its song hollow, echoing. you give me steps to climb … Continue reading Answers


Fall towards yourself look inward dark comes earlier. Fall behind who cares take more time slow down step into yourself. Bones chilled fingers numb head in hat sit with the world around you. Fall over no one is watching pick yourself back up lace up your boots tell it to the squirrels, cows, chickadees, a … Continue reading Fall

Made of ink

Writing is in my bones my platelets made of words. I write with the pens that are my fingers waving sigils in the air. I write with the pens that are my fingers; each finger long bones hollowed out the ink flows through inspired by the guidance by the stories my body holds.

Bone writing

Fingers like twisted branches reach for a pen to write about the lines that fold around her gnarled knuckles dry with age from holding onto stories too long her forearms rest heavy on the smooth white pages of bark as she writes her story with ink made of dirt; lines of language.