The ground appears

to have been
bathed, in milk — liquid light
coming down, in buckets
from her,


she does that.

Really only
once a month,
she reveals herself.

I went for a walk this morning,
without any clothes.

And this pissed off a heron, who squawked and honked off, over the water…gliding away, I could hear the wings,
imagining the moisture, rippling from her.

Like a bracelet of sound, beneath…

I lit some candles at the cairns and came back in, skin bristling with cold.

Exquisite exposures, to sense.


Decatur Island