Tag Archives: grief

Untitled (poem)

Your words are fleet and bright
and light, my heart,

but you look like a wolf
when you smile.

With your lower lip between my teeth
I taste meadowgrass, the fog.

With my lower lip between your wolf’s teeth, love,
all I can taste is your bright, bitter longing.


A short series of my poems has appeared in the October issue of SOL: English Writing in Mexico. This issue (as always) is filled with beautiful poetry, fiction and non-fiction, and I encourage you to read it through with a cup of tea in hand!

Silhouettes (poem)

If your body is clay,
your garments must be fallen leaves
clinging to your skin
with the lingering rain.

If your body is strong cedar
or simply a small thing, carved
from the inner stalk of devil’s club,
your hair must be old man’s beard
and the dewy cobwebs
of night spiders.

If your body is slight, indefinite,
a silhouette etched by the tide in the sand,
your eyes must be dark abalone
and your tongue a slick frond of kelp.

If your body is flesh, my love,
you must be lost to me.