Bess Beetle

Want to come play 

She says “Please, Sir”

Then you leave

Her so low

Worse than anyplace

Wet and cold

Quieter than windless blackness

In a hole of a tree

Bess beetle foraging

In mulch for autonomy

Cold Creek

The creek is coldest where the rocks are sharp

Where beyond our bodies fall pulled into the crash 

And it’s here where I ache the most

Where I long the most 

For the heat of your breath

To massage the deepest 

Hollows beyond my throat

Here I stop 

Shut my eyes 

Retreating back to proper society

Away from edge’s harsh pain 

Overpowering thrills and joy

Icy cool cramping belly

Memories locked into 

Down of my pillow

Where time remains unmeasured 

Alive

May Day

All the practices I do 

To make me feel alive 

Taste like Shredded Wheat in water 

I lit a fire in the yard 

White heat spirals up 

To the carbon paper sky

Summer is coming 

My children are grown

My son plays trumpet

My daughter belly laughs

I’ll stay 

Bare feet grounded 

The grass is cool 

I tell myself

Collecting Stillness

Long enough to stay