holding your heart in her rough hands your soul growing in her wild fields even with limbs, that longer sleep with in her she reads you, the energy of your skin against hers as you wander this life.

“The land knows you, even when you are lost.” The watery waves, though you are tempest tossed. And see not lighthouse, but rocky shores, Or sun-baked fields and gorse-filled moors. They’ll both draw you down, deep down to their keep, To cover you over. To…

The streetlights turn on And the night has begun My work is not done.

When my tears fall and the droplets resemble the islands a western wind from eight thousand miles away visits to dry my eyes. When my feet tire from an incline of a long street I can hear my mountains tease the slightest discomfort Don’t you…

The brick laden road of the 12th Enclave Guides me to the pop-up stall. I haven’t been here in 5 years, Yet I know the way Like a conquistador through a jungle I turn the corner And approach the sitting man. I hand him my…

The land knows you, even when you are lost. She is you. She never forgets. Your juices are her juices. Your flesh is her flesh. In cold city offices, In filthy concrete streets, Dressed in your warmest and heaviest coats and boots, She knows you….

Dripping, verdant land The air is made fresh again Life becomes pleasant.

On days when the world is too much And I feel lost in neon and concrete I walk into the woods and breath in I let the ground reawaken my soul I let the stream bubble joy into my chest I walk and walk until…

An editor with whom I worked always talked about the rags he wrote for with a sort of defiant pride. They may have just barely survived, but he was around to nurture them and sip from amber memories every time he coached us fledglings to…

When I am lost, and far from all The home I call my home will call I remember my first view Of the home I always knew Walls and maps don’t mark this space It’s the people, not the place When I am lost, and…