The Door

I loved her, in the way
you love things you cannot hold.
the breath before the fall,
the vine that teaches you to climb.

she was a door in unexpected places;
high above the ground
“step”, she said
and I did

on the route beneath the road
hand over hand
further up towards
the fear delicious
she smiled –

a smile stolen from the Devil.
Dirt on my hands
and whiskey in my throat.

Many miles from home,
I watched the cars pass below
from our unseen perch
delinquent birds; or bats perhaps

and wondered
how I would weather this wonder
how to handle the way
my world has widened

and the space between
my magic-makers;
my doors
and my freely-given keys.

Oakland, July 2013

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Welcome…

This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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