it was the road, the odd shape of detours, of camouflaged hands that could not hold the soulful beat of blues, tyranny of language denting...

i. spring hides from the window  the fog is a film in noir bathed in memories of tulips & blue irises (no birds in sight) ii. gusts ...

  your hands were warm, as were your letters against my cold touch i did not know spring then - nor the weight of long winter  this i now...

  Why are your words creased in moon’s indigo carbon copy, a blue my eyes cannot hold? Why are my morning legs ice-struck at dawn, yet l...

can you imagine it  the world stops spinning loud music simmers slow, ice of a hard winter melts; soft rain arrives quiet and unannounced we...

  the ashen sky is falling land exhales fumes and smoke shadows widen, rehearsing what comes next - or so it seems in the rearview mirror my...

  I unbox gold trees trimmed festive red bows there are amber lights tricking my eyes - moon- seeds or neon lights- cold nights, fevered dre...

  with maple leaves & apricot threads along the pattern drawn in my head- a mash-up of seasons pinched in circles  crinkled by moss ...

  November morning unfolds heavy fog, drizzled grey sky, strewn apple seeds - northern wind grows bleak and old as maple trees stand bare, b...

  This city is a lyrebird echoing voices from every corner of the world Arriving through Pearson Airport the road unfurls - smooth, bright l...