i.
cool air and the perfume of the blue hyacinth in the teacup on the windowsill linger in the room. despite the season of dark and dying she reveals daily her flowers of lilac-blue. mother knew what she was doing when she saw to create flowers. even now we hold each other's hearts with their enduring spirits between our teeth. above the dirt her delicately layered bulb sits and in full technicolour bursts forth expanding into life. the only thing she knows how to do.

ii.
and all the eyes that read these marks, which are the world according to me beneath this bright moon cut in half, resemble stars glittering in the night worn at times like a cloak of dark. or else a magnifying glass revealing an intimate piece of the interior, concentrations and dilutions of translations of a filtered image. what i like is the power of standing naked whilst being in control of the revelation. a slow undressing. of peeling away layers. of drawing the edges and saying "look, here"...

in pale words that were never flat

go wisely upon the serrated edge of the horizon.

that is what i want to say

as the colours of the earth and sky multiply.
 

i bring my green heart with it's midnight gardens

and hands familiar with the language

of the secrets in the texture of your skin.
 

we lacemake ladders and bridges

with not so much as a solid material

despite darkness knocking at the door

ever earlier these days mocking the sharpness

of the creased corners of the day.
 

the air feels thin.

i hold out my tongue.

the air smells like pepper, tastes of nothing.
 

an apparition of a medicine woman.

sliced apples on a plate of bone 

to banish all the things that scare me.
 

the clock chimed ten before i arrived

and now it's nearly tomorrow.
 

my beautiful accomplice

tonight i wish you tidal waves of love

and a heart strong enough to navigate

our winter home of quiet lands and stormy seas.

nostalgia with it's stillness and turbulance,

swords and softness,

the heaviness of february skies, wolf skies over secret seas,

rabbit in the moon the colour of ashes,

the gentleness of foggy mornings,
of meloncholy, balance and change,

and the contradiction between clarity and opacity.