New words and visuals

Your clumsy hands

I’m made of rice paper,
melting at your touch.
The lightest rain dissolves
my skin,
so thin
I wonder sometimes
if I exist at all.
And your clumsy hands
into splinters,
shredding my skin.
Shedding my skin,
I step naked
into the rain
and dance
in milky puddles,
sending spray
into the air,
into pink hair
floating behind me,
leaving behind you
and your clumsy hands
and my clumsy words –
the ones you heard long ago,
back when I lay wrapped around you,
legs and fingers intertwined,
drifting in and out
of each other,
sleep world becoming so thin
I wondered sometimes
if we existed at all,
the line between us
and dreams as thin
as rice paper walls.

  small philosophy

As a child, I found it strange 

that adults mourn

the lack of meaning,

always asking what and why

instead of looking 

for the beauty

in the shape of a question mark


 Summer can't reach us

 yet your card slips through my door

 confusing my dog.

 I'm receiving (and sending)

 too many mixed messages

I want to eat the sun.

         Pour it through my window

                                   and into my cup,

up      to the brim

                and over 

            and over 


I can swim   in yellow

               and drink my fill

and when I am done

               leave me be,

do not disturb   

my peace,

for my hands know 

this tender heart

and how to hold it just so

                    so it does not     break

and the cracks   in   my  skin

will glow    

     with dawn

  when you go.


For I am not broken    and I am not                                                                              alone.

Sun bite