Portfolio > pilgrimage ('25)

A YEW CHOKES ON HER OWN NAME
THE WOOD HERE KNOWS FIRE
KNOWS RUIN
NO PLAQUE
- YET NETTLES REAR BACK
STUNG BY HISTORY
CHARCOAL GHOSTS SCRIBBLE OF FEVER
PAINED, CHISELLED EXPRESSIONS LEERING
OUT OF TIME
NOT RUSHMORE, NO. . .
NO PRESIDENTS HERE -
ONLY THE BARK-TWISTED CRONE, & MAIDEN MOTHERS
'SIX GRANDMOTHERS', MAYBE. . .
STARING BLIND INTO SOIL.
INTO SKY.
AND THE SAGMOUTH OF A VANISHED INFANT
HELD BY LIMBS OF DARK WOOD
GUMS THE ANCIENT SKIN
AS OF SHE MIGHT STILL LEAK LULLABIES
'CROSS EXPOSED RIBS.
I LEAN IN AND HEAR IT:
THE WET CLICKING, MOUTHS
THE NURSING OF ABSENCE