The Body

Speaks from

The center

Of itself

Or gives

Physical hints

In its

Exercise of


Notes on Intercessory Acts

Notes on Intercessory Acts

Whispers of breeze,

Screams of rushing currents,

Chattering of rain

Became subliminal codes

Revealed as silent epiphanies.

If the Divine was a flame ever-burning,

The Light was a lamp guiding you

Through the midnight of the soul.

In your self-secluded pleas,

heart tore at strands of faith;

mind became an unlatched anchor

Drifting you further away.

& while your beloved reposed

like an empty shell,

Their life-lines charted crooked

paths across sealed eyes.



Stroking your poisoned scalp

I watch for memories of

silk, scarlet locks


Visiting Hours

Visiting Hours

By the wet, leaping dance of lake waters,

we wrote our futures in the air.

Silence doesn’t show itself in a vacuum;

it must be fashioned and embraced.

We built and accepted this stillness,

siting before a peeled-paint, crimson porch,

a tree bowing over moss-hued lily pads,

dressed in bark brown and mint green

and a motionless fish torn open from within.

I wondered then if you knew, or cared,

as you sat there in a wheelchair and brace,

that I spent last night with your best friend;

as if the pain of injury, aborted aspirations

and a six month rehab stint felt like death

enough at age eighteen.