It is not October, but I wear pink on my sleeve, shade of rose for the woman whose 1 remaining breast will be carved out, incised ...

Photography credit:  Totomai The woman across my train seat mumbles to herself.  I imagine letters jumping out of the windows.   T...

black birds fly in the direction of the sun  and stars, their ancient eyes following a spun pattern, magnetic as seasons ripen & sna...

I know not your name Nor the color of your skin Only the weariness of your bones slumped under the thin blanket I know not your home No...

Photography:   K. Sparrek I.     The gramophone is pillow        cradling her sleep         whistling a music only she hears  II....

you say nectar upon winter's thaw but the blooming is still a long way there are no bees nor buds  peeking from dawn's grey mist...

Cut from Paper by  Rogan Brown the paper calls to her as music each layer, a minute scale of spikes & thorns soft & be...

Title & Photography by  Brooke Shaden  Wind, tinder my words ivory blade, glinting silver than winter's splintered i...

Solar Eclipse Photographer:   Amy Shore Turn off the city lights When the sun's belly sinks into the lake Look skyward to drink ...

It was one wet spring lilac wore me bluer than I could recall, my knees jelly-dewed.   Your words were butter luring me as a bee  to f...