Dusting the rafters
of cedar timber
my ethereal fingers
meet no splinters.

Sappy amber sunlight
filters through flax curtains;
the remnant light they let in
bleaches me china-white.

My temporal body,
robust and sinewy,
ceded his opacity
to triumphant transparency.

I Sent the Sun Your Way


How does one explain in a foreign tongue

how to bundle up for winter in Paris?

I’ll never know

the language of your daily,

the language of your longing,

the language of your love.


I’ll never know

the reason for the red streaks through my words,

written and spoken-

A romance language,

the vein that tethers our hearts together


A whisper of broken lexique,

a light kiss on the cheek,

sliding in between my seams,

warming me through the vitrines,

the language of your love.