Sometimes I lean into the light

I raise my weary eyes up

and fill deep spaces

within me with air,

standing taller.

I blossom seasonally

though I am asked to be perennial.



breathing room

I know a thing or two

about keeping some distance,

about leaving just a little space

so that when you breathe out

you have more room

than you ever expected.




To know your front door

is to know you.




I tie my fabric to yours.

I hold the weight

of your thoughts

and you mine.



secret scrolls

Each letter a work of art,

the gentle black curve

of thick ink on porous fiber.

Prayers sigh with relief

as they lay their weight

into soft wood.

Words held tightly for divine viewing.




Our hearts close like

folded lotus blossoms.