On new neighbourhood rites.
On not writing
The problem with writing is I do not know if words are the very things I would most like to keep out.
There are things I'm hoping to find when the dust settles, and I tick them off like a grocery list I made when I still believed there could be a way to fill this house with light. Oranges, for the way I felt when busses took me to places I couldn't name, purified water for... Continue Reading →
Nothing like a horse
If there was anything else to drink, we would happily forget how the rain is made and never again believe in the colour blue.
By the lake
In another life, all I would do is find new names for the colour green, and it would be enough.
On the world and now and all the things that have happened and still may.
The end of a world as we know it.
I am still so much even as I am less and less.
As good a time as any to write the way I knew I would one day come back to, and start from.
There will always be time to dance from now on; it is that kind of season.