So burdened with a burning Song, the Soul makes, moves toward that eloquence of gold when flames have stripped her body of what stone-...

that if I had a wish, I’d wish for us to be stranded so long together, we’d come back reeking of blackberries, that we’d have twigs in...

Shall I gather the liquid centuries into my body and renounce these petty rules as but the artificial stepping stones to grace who is now...

I’ve seen the water banks holding the black ripples under the moon and the withered trees clinging to their cracking, yellow leaves. Now,...

When, in mute wonder of it, in the night, in awe, I dress that goddess who is my lonesome Soul crying to join everything as though it...

No body’s perfect, save thine dressed in blood, and wrapped about the head by shawl of silk. “Impostor of the Lord,” they label you,...

Well, I’ll know clarity when I am not born of smoke but of the flame—No, when I’m the flame itself, all woodwick & nightshaft transcend’...

It is seen among couples on park benches at midnight— It is not seen by them. It is heard by the deaf and felt by the blind. It greets...