reread your email.
loved me.
cried.
rang the bell bell thrice,
clapped, bowed.
to dust.
to love.

the stream
that spring
was lost
to imperfect us

your
ashes
guarding my attention

stilt

the fear that I will die with nothing surrounded
by ugliness

This woman
of
bramble and stone
lives alone
as though she
simply
waking, walking
extends
hours to prayer
there
along roads
of stones and birds.
Her feet without shoes
listen to the ground.
The sound
of voices may scare her.
There
where she
lives this
goddess
of the
sun
is
one
who
prays
alone
stays to
warm us

if I could tell of something now
but sleep
still
there are birds in the trees
knees that we recite a ssongs
along with mandarins and snow

winter's indigenous

I know said the snow