I make twin braids at the front of my hair so that you might use them as reigns to guide me to safety Where there are sailboats, and...

A sickly-yellow arm of the Sun draws upon my brow. It beckons me to my August window, clinging closely to the eggshell-plaster draped...

My heart, It carries the hem of yours Threaded to its cottony pillow Where it teaches my skin its name, and yours; I love you as the sand...

Last night I dreamt of a carousel horse. It lingered just outside my doorstep, patiently waiting for thumbed assistance to ring the...

I am asleep again. No, in sleep. I am not simply resting; in fact I'm not resting at all. My eyes close like the tin shutter of a...

The old woman, from within the creases of her lower ribs -the floating ones- brings out a bead. She places it in a ceramic bowl,...

And when our demons are asleep, there is always a morning. It is one they do not see. This is when they are numb. And yet another sun raises

I’m scrolling through my gallery, slowly going back in time. There are only pictures here, no words; at least, none that you can see....

I The dust walks me through the corridor, sticking to my clothes, pushing them closer to my skin. The fabric is soft. We speak; our...