Poetry
Creating The Melting Pot
Because everyone knows yellow pain, pressed into American letters, turns to gold
Paints for pigments
They mixed it with yellow ochre, then made the faces of God and their saints.
A Body as Potential
Please. All they had to do was ask, and their body finally listened, digging down and sprouting roots, and they felt whole.
Afterglow
How can I subtract you from sun? No shade of light would remain intact.
Sanc·tu·ary
You left the light on and the door open. Authenticity blooms, rooted in the nourishment of its soil.
The Crows
I wish I had left the windows open and let the crows devour you.