Burst

The penknife blade splits taut bark and a stream of pure moonlight weeps out from the wound. It weaves down the hillside, turning everything in its path to shimmering quartz.

Winter is back at my window, offering a pill of spider’s silk in her open palm. I turn away instead, slouching back to my cocoon to dream.

Lichen kingdoms creep cautiously, their borders advancing, colliding, fading, Like water stains on old world maps

Forests grow up on forests, stretching inward toward their guardian ancestors

The sea pulls her secrets closer to her prismatic heart at night, when she greets the moon at arm’s length and smiles behind an onyx mask

The bird and the moon