https://mollyburack.com/work daily 0.75 2013-08-30 https://mollyburack.com/blog daily 0.75 2016-03-01 https://mollyburack.com/portraiture daily 0.75 2018-10-01 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538354194398-I66U6URYD56F9XESN18T/DSC_5272+%282%29.JPG Portraiture - Cosmic Inflation Like late morning sun on freshly bathed skin or shrubs shivering against ankles like floating, suspended in the sea just past where sand meets feet like lying in savasana “I could stay here forever” like standing on a cliff with eyes closed grinning or purposefully getting lost in these woods Our trail We blaze not for the senses isn’t marked, secure but perhaps guided or else arriving home with you is both miracle and accident. Like knowing the answer before being asked — life so often depicted outside right here yet beyond reach but between you and me hearts that swim helices that bind our greatest knowing endlessly within. Like days which feel as minutes flying time as the setting sun will have it we too ripen but no mark of skin or silvering hair quiets laughter or dims vision or arrests our love Time is our counsel lending wisdom of pace we notice far more when walking than running. Like sips of desert air and reading Neruda, “You are like nobody since I love you” Like night drives stepping out from the car stretching my neck, suddenly stars dead and undead but beaming still “Where does time begin?” sudden, amazed and confused noticing you are also space atomic, love, infinite— Like this. This is who you are. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538354194398-I66U6URYD56F9XESN18T/DSC_5272+%282%29.JPG Portraiture - Cosmic Inflation Like late morning sun on freshly bathed skin or shrubs shivering against ankles like floating, suspended in the sea just past where sand meets feet like lying in savasana “I could stay here forever” like standing on a cliff with eyes closed grinning or purposefully getting lost in these woods Our trail We blaze not for the senses isn’t marked, secure but perhaps guided or else arriving home with you is both miracle and accident. Like knowing the answer before being asked — life so often depicted outside right here yet beyond reach but between you and me hearts that swim helices that bind our greatest knowing endlessly within. Like days which feel as minutes flying time as the setting sun will have it we too ripen but no mark of skin or silvering hair quiets laughter or dims vision or arrests our love Time is our counsel lending wisdom of pace we notice far more when walking than running. Like sips of desert air and reading Neruda, “You are like nobody since I love you” Like night drives stepping out from the car stretching my neck, suddenly stars dead and undead but beaming still “Where does time begin?” sudden, amazed and confused noticing you are also space atomic, love, infinite— Like this. This is who you are. https://mollyburack.com/portfolio daily 0.75 2016-03-03 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56cddecb2b8ddeef8fbf9088/1457024162806-XH03IVFMI26S05KB074J/31.jpg portfolio - Caravan In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Fusce eu erat tincidunt, dapibus sem scelerisque, dapibus nibh. Proin fringilla, est non fermentum cursus, elit nibh hendrerit velit, vitae congue neque augue sed odio. https://mollyburack.com/blog-1 daily 0.75 2018-10-01 https://mollyburack.com/blog-1/2018/10/1/cosmic-inflation monthly 0.5 2018-10-01 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538421891739-GTCL82QQD494BZGT9SXG/DSC_2816+%282%29.JPG Poems - Cosmic Inflation https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538421899931-66H4NL6BXTXD38BS4EXP/DSC_5274+%282%29.JPG Poems - Cosmic Inflation https://mollyburack.com/poems daily 0.75 2025-09-15 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538422348903-EICXU0NG0DHQOBGMDP4N/DSC_5272+%282%29.JPG Poems - Cosmic Inflation Like late morning sun on freshly bathed skin or shrubs shivering against ankles like floating, suspended in the sea just past where sand meets feet like lying in savasana “I could stay here forever” like standing on a cliff with eyes closed grinning or purposefully getting lost in these woods Our trail We blaze not for the senses isn’t marked, secure but perhaps guided or else arriving home with you is both miracle and accident. Like knowing the answer before being asked — life so often depicted outside right here yet beyond reach but between you and me hearts that swim helices that bind our greatest knowing endlessly within. Like days which feel as minutes flying time as the setting sun will have it we too ripen but no mark of skin or silvering hair quiets laughter or dims vision or arrests our love Time is our counsel lending wisdom of pace we notice far more when walking than running. Like sips of desert air and reading Neruda, “You are like nobody since I love you” Like night drives stepping out from the car stretching my neck, suddenly stars dead and undead but beaming still “Where does time begin?” sudden, amazed and confused noticing you are also space atomic, love, infinite— Like this. This is who you are. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538430990188-SQCX3DEPZ3YSZ7KZ8HKF/105_0600+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538431223625-QTGHFZTJ42LE3MS6GJ6S/131_3123+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538431918851-WKWA2VXXQ756WYYR5ESJ/112_1241+%284%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538432144110-QQGFH96SJBDQF7Z0FRF5/115_1574+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1538432898041-PYMYXR02SMV2EGN3INIH/DSC_3467+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1539299753783-6CTICCDNVJS2ZE7HZM3Q/DSC_3176+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1539304838932-15OJGHXGP74AJXVJAK1E/DSC_0407+%282%29.gif.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1540519648726-LH78U32MCRBYNL9MLYWR/DSC_2120+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1541424587565-LB0YTND2RBRHXSG4J48L/127_2716+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1542756044198-GPQ1ZFE2T6IYXECHOXKT/DSC_3234.jpg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1543709573937-HZ5RYA1YJPLUQCWEGDOQ/DSC_3530+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1544310558722-UUYLGGKH0WF78Z6TZ5Z4/119_1981+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1544483876661-SFAR5BVBT2XMOMVGH15Y/DSC_5086+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1547844828998-HYAKJQJW1Z7VA4E9YT8G/DSC_1985+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1548792040321-2VD6HA063KEGGMSX0CLS/1658342_10152250063399659_2121948144_o+%282%29.jpg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1549120719057-LHBH5USYMF7TUZK0DRYO/DSC_1381+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1551213173725-CLRCQIZZY51MRUMV2VPX/DSC_4635+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1551216062551-A5CAELRACQHSCO9J5HZZ/DSC_0034+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1552142905824-0EJSPRUUP5C9DA24EUDF/DSC_0939+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1554171234154-X0W5TEGGW6XQJLO9X68Q/DSC_0077+%283%29.jpg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1560193310819-W0MBG8H3QW6JOQDTM043/DSC_0144+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1559688896038-4TFQWNX15XK0WIEUVX1Y/DSC_0147.jpg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1562874757949-006347OKD7S20V5XY8KT/DSC_2829+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1562896350185-Y5YVZ9ZJKAN29GIMDS1M/102_0281+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1564013220386-91UP85VOL1IO61QG7Z2B/DSC_3428+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1564359599566-3ZE8T2DEOO8QLCJXCPWD/DSC_2893+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1566600896956-94Z0Y8ARDS7HI55SI2LF/DSC_3605.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1575257395089-KGGZPIFE8O1UU7SYP3O4/DSC_0130+%283%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1577044377231-J2XN2TAZWO3RDDFQD2KV/oceanmandala2.JPG Poems - Birch oil in my hand, I slide the curtain back How many wilted bodies have plumped in this tub? This ceramic, yellowing womb-tomb hollow or else completely filled with limbs, fluid and salt. How many tendons have loosened in the heat? How many hands unclenched? From their bed, nails ascend. I steep in the church of all religions. I trace across water that is holy because of my humanness and not in spite of it. Grout tinged sepia in memory of transmutation; I used to think it was gross. I used to think people were generally cruel then I remembered. In Chinese medicine, the liver is considered The Seat of the Soul perhaps for its purifying quality, for filtering crude matter in service of a greater something; my head submerged in biliary foam, rendered purged by the tub— society’s unembellished organ more process than place, ritual masked in mundane, it whispers, Okay, yes. Come, lay...I know. I know. I trust the tub knows people are generally good. I trust the post-bath sediment layer is made of more than dirt. I have to be brave sometimes and unclog the drain. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1578007978903-H1WXGAO0TXC7BQ6R1SS2/lightmandala1.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1583530837885-VBDBN49AFRL5ZDEE5Y7A/love2.jpg Poems - March 6th I close my eyes and enter the dream of us, millet-bellied and soft, tracing the walls for new texture, bloomed gelatin, stale rye or a fresh tear to unchap my lip I consider your veins as portals and thank the other side who has dropped sunflower and sesame down the throat of singing feathers, somewhere knowing the way birds make me smile and that it is important to cherish the dream: a boy and his rock collection a girl who finds God in a flicker wing in the dream we half a red cabbage and see a lady in ceremony with arms to the sky that is me you say and empty the trash full of crumpled swans and hair you trace my jaw like the perimeter of a rose and again I am beautiful, in the dream we compare maps and collide at distant ocean hums, Pink Floyd, close encounters with deer, broccoli stems— tired from the journey we dislodge hands from the clock and plop in the center, lain against me much like a child, I feel your heart in your neck asking to be kissed every tea candle heretofore will remind me of our precious wax— promised in my lap, the weight of your head revered like a bowl of feathers and I swear it is everything. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1583965145163-GWFZ1TBWV502J7WCARV6/9A90FEB9-912E-4F88-A7EA-4FE9EBCEE549.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1587177413132-2KAI807CACBSMJUE1AE7/AACECFEA-9DEE-4AC7-9F9F-771E54884EBB+%283%29.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1593709405761-J7RVMQ55BDJSV55VLPJO/tiger1.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1594057449056-JNSJ8MN2ZLCQRI97ISC5/784C9639-DF4D-4D5D-91EC-8402D3DE06FF.jpeg Poems - Spaghettios with Fresh Oregano It is February 14th the flicker is drumming the stucco my coco is thick and I study the secret green in my beloved’s brown eyes, in my dream I burrow my lips into the mountain soil now I wipe cacao from the crevasses and bear myself to the day with hope between molars wedged as apple skin before it breaks loose black silk wanders the city like volcanic ash and The People eat pasta primavera, sip sour wine, trace fingers and float above the homeless guy on St. Francis or the one “livin’ on a prayer,” reminds me of dad at the shelter and what lyric he’d bold sharpie on cardboard maybe, “there must be some kinda way outta here,” or something from Taxman. His fingers are still swollen working construction on meth, I’d bring him jelly donuts he ate 2 days later every gratification delayed when you’re on the bottom rung and I swear the second one up is 100 ft tall but everyone believes you’re Alice surrounded by eat me cookies and lazy, no less. Mom makes scalloped potatoes from the middle rung though I rarely see her I smell her trauma layered somewhere between onion, russet and cheese the luxury of carpet and heat, a fat dachshund my friend sees and calls me rich, I steal refried beans from mom’s pantry to bring dad she hates it though they’re expired I bike bags of beans across town and watch the cement deteriorate watch the brow stiffen touch the sweat of my father’s withdraw when it floods my palm and tells me of a poor man’s panic, the spore of addiction manifest as mold everyone throws bleach around and leaves the window closed; one room crowded in desperation, food stamps, donut boxes and scratch its, hope and everything unmet one room with the slow rise of carbon monoxide, unseen poison of walking around a sidewalk sleeping bag and finding it inconvenient. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1594058454869-OXACY36PB6F4REMBYKSM/6742EED1-CB6F-4CB4-B45D-07E831A73E64.jpeg Poems - Dad Wishes Us Pleasant Dreams Weeknights are with Dad now hefty lumps of hot spaghetti, eating on the ground, rust colored carpet caked in our lives, peeling potatoes on a bucket, the working class grit I got half of the sadness of a single scratch on a used record the ruthless clench of hope found in the jaw off brand cola, our Mother’s milk which swiftly effervesces and burns the residue of all that could be in our throat, Dad laughing at Kramer, my brother laughing at Dad, I wish this moment could pull like a bubble from a wand and suspend forever but I have to refill the Gatorade bottle with soap and feed the dryer my Ohio and Virginia quarters and decide that math homework is important but I cannot convince myself to play with numbers the lack of which has pooled thoughts of death in my Dad which I am now privy to as I trace the ridge on a pack of Lorna Doones and pour us all a cold glass of 2% Dad teaches us how to cookie soak I rub the velvet vinyl cleaner against my arm. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1595014629859-4MFDHSRSKAATZI4SIX6C/Screenshot_20180717-122548%25281%2529.jpg Poems - 57 Candles and 9 years Clean For Dad “Kids don't remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.” ― Jim Henson You are copper tone, paisley, freshly bloomed butter and onion, Russian hymn, screaming trumpet, choke laughing, knee stained in grass, over-peppered beef stroganoff, giver of my first guitar, I trust how you are unafraid of donuts it makes the other parents unclench because you are sometimes free, I know it is not your limits that define you, your edge imprinted with the swirling fractal of Aunt Mary’s pysanky, with the volume of, “Hurrah!” I imagine you standing in the doorway where you once slept, by the Burger King where you once peed but your tears are different, they fall with purpose and these days when I feel stained and homeless to myself I remember what you taught me about liberation through choice but mostly I remember what you are. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1598557591645-6XJNKOVU6UWCE7S2RG7W/bee.JPG Poems - I Have Remembered Who I Am // Honey and Marrow The fires have reddened the sun, a pile of hot smoked lox buried in creamy sky, you sit and watch folded loosely upon a stiffened chair, suddenly remembering beneath all this fabric and flesh is a skeleton a bony palm which carried a dying honey bee into eight severed daisies spine like a swan’s neck, bowed and then perked a jaw which unhinged into “You Are My Sunshine” and knees that folded into cherry pit grass to pet the velvet body of she who stung you and is now suffering. Do you remember how the bee tucked herself beneath the petals and slowly became still? While her sisters wove in and out of hydrangea plumes? Do you remember that the tree was watching? And too, when you unstuck a crow from the road and made him a casket, and cried into the ground? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1600390583938-0131Z0FKVHAZQ0F82H6A/IMG_20171201_071821.jpg Poems - Cutie Mama (Wounded Healer) Although it was August and the mountain here holds a heat like fat dashes of cayenne and ginger, my neighbor Tom adopts a husky. I don’t know her name so when she trots up the rocky driveway to peer in my window, I call her cutie pie, or husky, or mama, though she is pupless, and fumble for a water bowl, though she never takes from me. She is a desert anomaly, a silver cotton ball floating in a beige and cactus laden backdrop. She is constantly panting so she constantly looks happy. One winter when it snowed in the high desert she laid sunken in a foot of snow on my doorstep, everything white and fluffy, like her. Belonging like her is seasonal, though she is always smiling. That winter I pat her butt and she yelped. A chunk was missing from her thigh. The fibers of her muscle shone like rose quartz or freshly halved grapefruit. It was too much for me to look too long. I wanted it covered, bandaged, protected from the air and her mouth which obsessively licked it, nudged it, nibbled it. It’s never gonna heal if you keep touching it I said, when her eyes, black and glassy, became a mirror. Eventually a thick, cloudy mucous crawled over the wound which I learned was the result of a coyote bite. It mucoused, then scabbed, then ballooned, then became a hefty cyst she limped around with for four months. Every morning, cutie mama at my door, her big black balloon hanging from the side. I couldn’t demand Tom to help her, though I rehearsed it 300 times. Maybe he is busy, maybe I should call a vet, doesn’t anyone want to help her? On and on like that. But even with a cone, dogs try to touch their wound. They will tear the gauze right off just to be close to it, to smell the rank absence of skin, to moisten what has never been touched by air. Before anyone interfered, I would see her, sometimes, hidden behind a pinon tree curled in a secret crescent, nose to wound, eyes shut, gently tasting the opening. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1609024226212-1FZ77M9EOUEKSO4WUI33/10847642_10152983699524659_343188213823537711_o.jpg Poems - Merge I notice the sprawling green veins in her hand and recall her recalling the piece about two worlds: that which is seen and that which is not. Then there are veins. I enter her through her body because, I assume, that is where she is but often, she is a few feet above herself and I am not sure who is drinking the tea I have brewed. “Why do you fear your own flesh?” I ask “Aren’t you your own home?” She descends and rests her lip on the lip of the mug, curling the steam with her breath, encircled in rose and ginger. “That is right. Thank you.” She’s one of those people who carry the truth in their eyes. I can hear her in the other room talking with others, sharing gratitudes, going silent in a hug, but what do her eyes look like? Are they dilated? Is the iris in full hazel bloom? Is she turned around and looking through the back of her head? Or paralyzed in that one protective film which doubles as her captor? She has beautiful eyes though, doesn’t she. “When you tell the story of someone be careful how you enter,” she says, massaging almond oil into her stretch marks which, to me, are empty arroyos where I have heard gold collects. “And how you exit,” I say. On nights like this one we gathered dried lichen and placed it into a young fire frayed green tendrils chased into ash like blood flooding a choked vein when she stood she moved the light around my face, washing it like an eclipse sweeps the earth and the smoke when she sang it bent around her breath it carried the song in its body unable to hold it for long— I swear the plumes were weeping and if they had eyes they would be in full bloom. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1587592287648-AYU9WQW1B7KMSA30AU71/DSC_5086+%282%29.JPG Poems - Sometimes, when you lay down, you can see her breathing An honest mound of oat flour broods in a jar shaped like a dune in Nehalem before the wind hits and all of her sisters are scalped as a sacrifice to the wayward thing, the shape shifter that leaves us all unable to cling to anything—but especially words. Today the earth is my mother and it is not a lie or a ploy for attention, it is an honest thing, a stray root I find as I slide my hand beneath her porous skin and ask for help, or just to feel her warm soil. Cacti are budding their purple crowns guarded children who release their water in the form of a gift. Today the earth is my mother and it is not a lie from her breast I have found oats and beets, mustard on rye I have plucked dandelion and sucked from the stem its bitter milk as if to learn something about the color yellow, or trusting weeds, and once, in a pasture of wheat, I laid my back upon your belly for half a day and cupped a moth in my hands. Today the earth is my mother and I kiss the bark of every tree I’ve escaped a house to find home in— you know, these days, I run my thumb over your stones who, jagged and heavy, leave an imprint in my palm a reminder of passing things, even I with only an offering of breath will sprawl beneath your imagination in a quiet bath of stars each one, a tenseless death, brilliant and still— I study them backwards like a butterfly. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1610656836874-BT7I7L8U9MZ7VPMG5WY5/DSC_0226+%282%29.JPG Poems - Time Crystal After W.S. Merwin I see that I will be lying in a patch of shriveled Juniper berries all skin and seed their life has fled like dead stars their juice glimmers elsewhere their juice glimmers in me as I remember, piney and sweet desert pearls embedded in molar in a patch of death I taste sugar I taste the earth, Pinon bark, the sun’s breath, shards of clay and Cholla skeleton I am the only one to have laid beside them all wood and bone their quills have latched to coyote legs like my lost hair hangs off the neck of my beloved as though it belongs there tucked in wilted berry earth the fallen flicker feather amber stem, speckled I see that I will be laying it against abalone and deer figurines surrounded by books and low-wax candles I see that it has fled a life a bird life, a life made of sky the way I have never seen it and my calloused hands can hardly feel it so along the inside of my wrist I sweep the silken limb which has fled a flying thing as though it was given but even the sky cannot be kept https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1613691071755-24INQVURDGU116AVN8KF/DSC_0168+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1617503134319-UA38B82JF7840U8C1VM5/lilac++is+a+name.JPG Poems - Lilac is a Name to Quantify the Mystery You sink your face into a plume of lilac forget the name and inhale the earth’s mauve nerve ending, her gift to the in-between cholla and sky, what do the bees know of syringa vulgaris? Of stem description and taxonomy? What of the essential sweetness which shapeshifts into every nose and cannot conform? Did the earth imagine her, or is her sudden eruption of petals a passing dream? Milk for the babies? Evidence of the lower world? The flowering of fractals, of clustering ova no less the architecture of life. You have never seen the roots of her but severed a limb to embalm in vase water as if to remember all that is not you, the dark world of origin suspended in water and glass as if to remember the mistake you have made in acquiescing to the name. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1627512391658-9DEMJUH5SXI6AAV656BS/DSC_5038.JPG Poems - Evolution of a Bond I close my eyes and enter the dream of us, millet-bellied and soft, tracing the walls for new texture, bloomed gelatin, stale rye or a fresh tear to unchap my lip I consider your veins as portals and thank the other side of you who has dropped sunflower and sesame down the throat of singing feathers, somewhere knowing the way birds make me grin and that it is important to cherish the dream: a boy and his rock collection a girl who finds God in a flicker wing in the dream we half a red cabbage and see a lady in ceremony with arms to the sky that is me you say and empty the trash full of crumpled swans and hair you trace my jaw like the perimeter of a rose and again I am beautiful, in the dream we compare maps and collide at distant ocean hums, Donald Byrd, close encounters with deer, broccoli stems-- tired from the journey we dislodge hands from the clock and plop in the center, lain against me much like a child, I feel your heart in your neck, knocking to be kissed now I bend to you, lit by the flame which effaces every memory every candle heretofore will tell me of our precious wax-- promised in my lap, the weight of your head soft like a bowl of feathers or the basal bond between tear and cheek and I swear baby it is everything. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1630884391074-6PHY123OMJBTS8X6RXXO/110_1088+%282%29.JPG Poems - From Every Elephant // Belonging For our Little One The earth has loosened her skin so I may wear her, and she may cool me She has gifted me an onion to remind us of tears, of the effortless welling up whose translucent layers stay close to her heart, the onion becomes us and lingers on our tongue and we remember we are nourished, and that we have cried. Discover your rage and behold it as a bull in musth, remember but do not regret discover your self in all forms beneath the sun tear choking, belly grunting, birth giving, shy blind baby every you is swaddled and held in the water hole you have dug by the trunk that is yours a bull in musth has killed a villager and still he may drink from the hole, and sleep in the earth like a calf on the nipple you belong discover the milk which has bled from your severed onion and even in pain you belong create the footpath that will nourish those who follow the hyena who has stalked your baby now sips from your water hole maybe, once, the hyena was you— remember but do not regret and if you do, it is okay too I will trot in place to the beat of your heart and jostle your bones held in your own pulse your mother’s burp tap the click of your dreaming eyes rhythm of that song which erected your hairs and opened your forehead enter the earth of your body and remember you belong. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1643130803018-DBNXHHUETLA8AFYOPNVO/6FBDAE8F-816F-4D8A-B2B1-B65BED7C91D8.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1644264329277-IUSL8TQP31YXOOE9JZRM/8270CEA7-3CA7-498D-870C-8C1C53F71EC9.jpeg Poems - Maya Astraea I have discovered you unasleep and coated in desert vernix juniper pollen, yellow flecks of ragweed your eyes unfurled to nothing ordinary even your voice stirs the ground of my heart. I have never danced like this, I am dancing. Never burned to benefit from old wood benefit from my fire, baby girl, I will cut myself in half and emerge a mother. I will be a trunk in the wind. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1590175451663-EMKX9YQ1Q6PL9AMH9PK9/DSC_0259+%282%29.JPG Poems - мечта о ней I meet the mountain at twilight when the sky coats the Pinon in mauve and the ground is freshly blistered in two-lipped beardtongue and milkvetch appearing as flecks of amethyst, kunzite, quartz; I think they might be stars but forgive me if I am mistaken. This is the hour I belong to when the green isn’t so green, when even the stones soften, and everything is as if stirred with milk, honey and pollen— the Earth is swallowing bull snakes and I am at the entrance of her dream. On my descent, I find the moths braiding the secret air each plume effervesces out of and into Juniper, I belong in the middle of their dance stood in the silken flit of a hundred wings that haven’t a name for anything. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1657558916373-MW64OGS4ZACMUW1J3814/FE5EE3E7-BEFA-4CBF-894E-33698E6844D5.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1660967390054-PN6BFOGQK9SLCZFMDYWZ/808BE861-EC85-4912-8856-E4CF7A58A5F5.jpeg Poems - Uncontrolled Burn (She is Singing) Exhaled from blue you rush into sky, the forgotten everywhere who nurses your flickering edge with air borrowed from moth wing, you are ascendant to the wood that is not you, swallower of twig and lichen, plastic shard and whole homes I can trust you will burn me up, too, an entire grove I cannot recover or wet back into being, but beneath my tender and amber calloused sole I can somehow feel a thousand sprout stems on the tip of my mother’s hum her raspy wet suspended in charred stump and stale smoke, even in the weep of some scared kid screaming it was a mistake, even in the tremble and choke, the throat of all jerking and salted with tears, her bass note as breath carries and you think you can’t hear a hollow thing but every instrument has a hole. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1662765557400-QEDRVMZQPAM3ZHZQOQRQ/0F3B5D02-AFEE-40AC-B47B-993ACC0242A2.jpg Poems - запам'ятати Cragged and brilliant green hangs its yellowing arms as though from my neck, anchored in my womb — I love her. I love her so much I feel the bruise of grief for having left, though only a few feet are between us, I love her peach in my palm coated in dusty vernix the gushy amber innards she has given my mouth, wet, as she plunges through throat long pierced with pencils and nails, and lands somehow down there she loves me from the raw pink core, believes in the weight of my heart as she, too, has been torn, obliterated upon some wandering tooth and in her so velveteen song she sings of the bitter almond seed— pungent release from the center of her peach, crushed from which another tree, like a poem, roots a certain sweet, certain hope in the body of me churned into acid and soon into blood where, somehow, the bodies of us merge, meat of meat, a dessert peach becomes the dream it is no less a song in my heart that must, believe me, crawl into your arms, into your crescent yellowing leaf, place my calloused tree ring tips up on your hardened skin, and trace a place for my cheek it is in your shade I hold you as though I need to be held as though I am a child, remembering as though I am a mother. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1664574756691-1FHRQLDC0AACKLNZRQP1/E18065AD-95BC-46C9-9945-15A4AC3EAA8D.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1665886969749-8X7RGARKP42V2T53Z71V/silence-2022-05-07-160818.jpg Poems - Light Body After Adrienne Rich Seems the earth assumed the light different here, seems the so direct sun in its high spike rays fell into earth as cholla quill and yucca spine, everything here could pierce you, even the pine plume of juniper pollen and the snakeweed, bitter like, post-monsoon— what I notice is a record of sharp light and sharp greens, dormant essence released in a sudden wet purge but its not complete unless the soles of me meet a few unrelenting quills who find in me some blood to bleed I was so soft I carried the swell for days as a purple globe and “why would this earth protect herself from everything that is she?” what I mean is the scat in October is full of pink, still prickly things the strange harm of sustaining things tufts of belly fur as if gifted to opuntia limb, who, in its time becomes velveteen I once caught a crow from the road I peeled its light body, limp like, crushed me at such a young age to behold its unmoving sheen the way it trusted my hands as I buried it into a shallow wet hole, torn from grass, its eye I knew was to be reabsorbed if not by ant or the crawling earth, time whose flickering change of heart did not arrive protected so how could I thicken myself from you who entered so deep? Who stayed splintered, as memory I could not walk I had to dance around you silver sword of light, sleeved in my sole, the thing I came for when finally I bend into sharp, blanched arroyo and choose to join this earth (will you) teach my daughter to dance https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1667228717485-3HMU9RJHF350ULE35Z8R/barnowl.jpeg Poems - Dark Matter Softly the entrance into my eyes as though a feather has fallen through would fall through the sincerity of its contact upon firm fiber, velvet curve bent towards the sky as though it is made of it, simply to touch what can fly tracing from cherry plume to lawn tiny wings with my eyes or the massive quiet up lifting barn owl from wheat, closing her gap between body and moon that between wind building beneath her wing which of course I could borrow and live within. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1669592259693-6W28L4LHD52YPK4CYZWI/C56638FF-EFD1-48DD-9340-1A731CDF8B1E%2B%284%29.jpeg Poems - Rings True She couldn’t know it was just a switch back on the trail, that I’d soon be passing her yes with a thick post-hill breath, couldn’t know the friend in me hands that slip to under belly for a scratch. Made no sense to watch her huddle suddenly beneath blackberry, woven threads of thorn, tender baby all torn up. Sasha come! It’s okay, Sasha it’s okay. Her owner scrambling for a pocket treat or a tone, word, finger tucked under collar, a tug, but like stone to water Sasha weighted into a sea of thistle vertebrae poking through stiff arc her true body, string of pearls drenched, stricken as though everything is made of it the voided song cradled behind a dancer’s back, her perfect crescent, rib cage bursting through, or that one tree on the cape whose insides ripple as stone becomes water, rings true as any other flesh and bone tree calloused roots bent out of shape, bark gashed by time or a starved Flicker, but you don’t see that winding south up 101 its the arc, every unbraced limb emptied of leaf bent from ocean, bent so long the trunk had to go with it, the trunk perhaps terrified, choosing to fall, choosing the wind, slow cambré coated in salt in gushing gray sky, out of the blue, cured as flesh on ice it looks so still so tattered and visible some part of you goes with it the struck side, where the song comes through blows you out, strange and raw body language of crying dog, the whole sky rips against spine, wood, rib, crawls cold and black over the moon, the moon curling away in crescent hold, she feels it, death, but turns out to touch back to rock the water which pulls the wind and in a total collapse of color beaming every halved and ringing body, breath held, god how she can dance. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1673843934074-Q5DGPAWLFEYG1S0IAEX1/6BA037D1-6637-4B61-8F16-A94A8FBB64C9.jpeg Poems - блакитна мрія Hymn to Butterfly Pea Put the flower in the milk dried and hugged into stem let her soak, a caring cream, a field she hasn’t known, she could be unwound in blue, she could be a floating star who really feels the waving spoon beneath her core undulating loose in white rolled, submerged, coming to the foamy edge bleeding blue, blue blood, your many stars, light my throat, make me yours, if I feel you pool upon the waning pink flesh within, I am made, emerged as you, loose and bound and freed again in a lake of milk and moon I will feel to feel your care butterfly (woven wind) your wing to sky, to cup, to me turned upon a careful breath in my heart, fluttering there with whisper’s edge so true so true sweeping bone, cell and juice flick your hush through all too sore, bowing back to paper wing field of me steeped of you, petaled water mirror of sky, tea poured over beaten gray salve to grind and splitting stone drummed in grief, in howling head bending open back to blue daughter latched slap stars to breast pulls a milk from above, please drop down the hole of me, make me holy fore and hind, lapis dome as tea joins sky between as light pools in my eyes my maker comes, I feel your care and you are who I pray beside. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1675120709303-UQ3YEND3OIBKTVTMW18C/mainedit2.jpg Poems - Meeting the Willamette After Ann Filemyr You come to the back of me pounding cold velvet, could even pass through the black of my eyes but I am bone. I have my defenses. Hemorrhaging beyond neck flooding ears all the split and cobbled earth within you has relented to the bottom, now coated in the silky green coagulation of still things— as moss spores to rock or an opal glaze collects over the dreaming eye, mattering so secretly suddenly, as fledgling tufts erect like a crystal garden through marrow, wing bone, flesh— hard things, which no such hardness could touch without breaking though calloused and gripping my soles (bless them) keep burrowing to catch hold of a stone curling arch to grasp a broad-enough edge but jolted forward from behind you take me perpetually through my such soft human terror my infant body in situ unbreathed, bracing water to break for breath, crowning through every wall I could never (bless them) hold You slip me free of pleading through the blue black gushing, no thing to hold me against you but in you everything slipping then swimming I came to touch your mouth and live https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1676411425313-P71PYTYSHTQR8MO4DEH8/IMG_20230214_134436731.jpg Poems - Tracing Anamnesis I opened my eyes to see the river palpating, sign of a deeper pulse swelling to the unfused fontanelle river, your silver sheen flecked blue black, wiggling mallards who arrive in twos, I speak to greet the hen, who in return opens her feathers how did I forget to feel her heart? Not the globulous purple thing we splice to know it is there— left beating to trace its purpose or relation to wing: I want to know why I forgot the feeling of her gaze upon river, her breast, the way she belongs in this place as we must, somehow, belong to too— how her timid glance could touch mine in the air and we might, together, stay awhile before her orange palmate reveals the way through mud to river, a triangle growing in her wake, she remaining apex, floating as we will to touch the very body of a tree whose moss has engorged with rain a cushion for my cheek I feel your strong heart felt this once with a mare lids half fallen, fluttering in some light as I a kid yearning for something to feel me, holding her meaty chest slightly risen to collapse forehead propped on her warm neck, bristles to skin and the slow salt dew forming between us, opening a mandala in my stomach tail whip to fly, a sudden wind, chain clanking over there, here shiver of pink dusk tiny plumes of moth lifted from wheat, each wing blooming through thorax dentritic, velveteen, to feel this world as its seams— made with a curve made to return to the body, so quietly like everything you ever remembered but more like remembering. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1679605708453-NPYZCO16LGJ1FX3IA7WO/clouds.jpg Poems - Revisiting the Water Cycle // De Sidere The joke is that it is the god himself, not the petitioner, who utters the hymn; the inversion is both a mocking and serious testament to the power of love. -The Orphic Hymns, Athanassakis & Wolkow Desire —water body pooling under tongue, desire makes wet the sky who once arid glistens now with tiny globes of dew growing heavy enough to fall (journey) down — spiral descent birthed from cloud: body breathed and condensed rain dripping heaves through the gap as infant crowned over brown muslin floor —earth yearning to feel sky and everything in it behind it or yet to become it, it is desire alone that moistens the lapis dome and each tear split from above burrows below seeded in metals and dirt, earth also holds the water which vapors to sky, every cycling fleck mirroring the oily halo between sun and sun, the molten orb echoed inside: beneath crust, granite, peat, crawling cosmic strings, eggs, magma spinning blood from core to vein —sometimes she thirsts to taste the rain her ocean breathed; with eye eye mouth to sky mostly-water-you pray to steep in a heaven mirrored and made of you in truth it is a such soft and quiet thing to desire what you already have creator that you are. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1680971281374-AUZ3XYEVJIBV8V4KIVT0/DSC_1121.JPG Poems - i. Barn Owl // Inner Ear I prayed for rain, yes I plunged the sea, came hand dipped in rivers —I searched. I searched inside where the vision was black, spinning, spun, fogged hot and narrow. I searched with eyes turned back, shot up and burrowed in, I searched to find center, calm white orb of knowing I had read of: “to bring light in dark times” but my eyes instead turned black as though they were made of this no-moon night, the whole head of a barn owl serves the ear. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1683003176755-CIJLQNS4G71IX6IA3UZC/SHORE+ACRES.jpeg Poems - DRAINING THE BATH Day one, I’m done floating water through the two star end of me, salted and lemon wet I’m going to will myself to stand and clear the thick white wall no symbolism in this hot and weak gesture no making art when faint hits sit! toiled lid hunch: the one proven sacred thing you became from those men is that way you bend over a spread squat breathe: dew escaping chest, lanugo skin contemplate the drain, not yet but soon. Thigh sweat growing a prism over plastic seat, the hair down the leg you shaved for everyone but you and said instead, “I like it soft” —when lying feels like (protection) you’re gonna will yourself to stand at the oval edge down-looking for silver orb, your moon face swelling red, brunette branches collapsed at your cheeks— that drain a mirror turns out, turns out your looking at yourself as you plunge hand arm-deep in that bath through rainbow sheen, flecks of flesh, earth— gaze unmoved between you and you crab crawling your fingers in to press click suck the water too heavy, turns out for a programmed release so you will yourself to wedge four points of the star beneath the choking silver lip feel it collapse and pinch tips don’t let up, hot and bent you may want to fall back to that lid— to COMMIT TO THE DRAIN: push past the first knuckle line and lift, lift it soft enough to remain connected yet open as water rushes not floats through your flesh revealing the gap where your face projects; See my eyes look at me Trust the body knows when to retract claw back and stand again trust now the drain and listen to the sinking hum of water pulling itself like love always to the lowest place, now gargling towards her arterial core where down up becomes revolving and towelless you are gonna leave here on a two-flight descent down-looking at stairs not your own lined by photos of the war, a wedding, sepia child (glint of sun), you will see the typewriter, some badges and finally a mirror before you hung in the corneal end of your eyes aqueous then oil; afterimages of the world laid against your lid, cleansed save for the crystalline sheaths of salt crucified to the walls after a good soak. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1683402381039-TN8V3Y2DQH8ZHTGEU01F/fox.jpg Poems - Vortex Cordis Door, there’s going to be one. Sometimes imbued with a code system, a double lock, sometimes janky and off the hinge. I’ve seen a door so quiet and forgotten in the middle of some high- way land, golden and bare maybe three splintering boards left to collapse inward, you couldn’t tell it apart from a hole except for the frame around it which made for a warmer body once, or a place to spoon blue mush, gave a child’s holler a certain boundary —where at night I could see a coyote cheek pressed against the wall, but a door was imagined there, embedded there, drew my hand around its knob the whorl of my heart. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1684733763757-DHO7AT1DBDK63QYEF916/elephant.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1685910349046-SO2VV8GKRFVGT8FATR56/shamans+blue.jpg Poems - NSA // Blessing to Mug The grief you cry out from draws you toward union. Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. -Jalal Al-Din Rumi, excerpt from Love Dogs I think that was a place I searched on craigslist back in the day when lonely others hunching on the toilet or in some poorly lit nook I imagine flicked a series of letters on a phone to find themselves wanted by wanting, I never posted such a visible thing I just wanted to feel missed connections are placed deeper beneath the arrow, there maybe I may find who notices me but for some other flickering reason I lift my chin to break lips at the brim of my mug whose factory sheen is black and mirroring my face stretching along what once was sludge and slit body, full now and then of my starchy tan offering— who are you missing? searching to be missed? Will I take the long pour I gave of milk and grain to the hidden post? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1686284614644-81VJQO1C783S5GK4W2EP/mother+mary.jpg Poems - Child of the Moon Through the many gaps between the many wooden planes a screen of bath water condensed and blurring a single street lamp, amber imparted over sleeping cherry blossom and nuthatch I sit peeing, not seeing an owl but sensing it unseen somewhere perched in the periphery of hooded amber shedding over cold earth through open blinds still streaks of dew, drawn there— moths spiraling the post, muted, up-swirling my waters hissing over pale pearl bowl, moon revealed slow through slits in slate plush, even veiled her glow diffuses and locates me, I imagine nothing but this. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1687357442102-EK3Y6U30SOMFUFNLZ1RE/17EA2C4B-27B3-4BCF-BB1F-82EFA3DC8E5D.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1688533782929-OK9RVAPGTVV4ZS1U3SKU/061E93E0-6010-473B-A8F7-0369F97594A0.jpeg Poems - The Etymological Origin of Bully is Sweetheart I love your loose tee, crumpled over stiff jean short—if we were kids I’d cower under your blonde cliff edge, streaked in wet trails of severed nopales— here at the playground—both our feet nuzzled in cedar dust tiny piles of tree we timid but somehow chirping for our baby in the baby swing I love that you trip glance away from me, perhaps whisper a thing to your husband I’d once hide from and still hear— but a bull in the meadow stares right at you, through you, as though plumes and stem of moonshine yarrow below are its fur, as though my marrow has hooves, my brow of crescent horns as though the sky behind me is for me at my tail, blue ends in pink plush ribbons of gold the first star emerges sister of the glinting next, next thing you know it all of them effervescing into blackened hide still so warm and wise with birds. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1688832532927-FKG5QGR6BC4I1B4ZX5WU/PXL_20230707_214923973.jpg Poems - Self Heal // Heal All For Prunella Vulgaris Burrow your index beneath one strand of braided root, it winds moist lawn with the imminence of purple globes mowed each Sunday, torn from the tap as any self rooted weed; swiftly returning clusters, whirled and wise of death. She who I locate at the hidden play ground, labyrinth base of berry bramble and swing post she who I pray to and pinch-snap from Earth who I twirl along lash and sweep between lips before I take her crown and velvet cuff winged over silk spine, wholly under tongue where my waters flood your many ears, your postpartum bracts shed of their twilight blooms—this morning I saw a plump bee nuzzling its entire head in you. How does it feel now to shine in the hive’s copper goop, to be comb cell sheathed in wax for winter’s dark communion? How does it feel to be made sweeter by a body whose flight we chose to call dancing? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1693028908778-77VDEVY3YX9945O3J9YL/7F36E4FF-8BDE-492A-B31C-36DCB39B23D0.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1695104272953-4MS340HHQGDUWWSE958M/44AB3723-91F8-4BC5-AD5F-D86CD28CF908.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1705990489255-DT3MFLE9WRVTQQLNNU6H/IMG_0009.jpeg Poems - The Harmonics of Dreams Plume of purple basil blossoms sewn in thick silver fog along sponge earth dewy aftermath of a dream, the one I come out of the old car body just to enter my breathing head into you to behold the field unfurling barnacles lobed in the grass planted like eyes you see seeing behind their oval caves drawn as I am a child into each halo of your oiled heart, buds who gape their tender beaks shell shed, calling on the juice of their Creator, laying a thousand tiny tongues along my cheeks my buried eyes flooded with purple so honest it suddenly becomes clear--a single vein emerging in the petal’s face, as I awake beneath the amber orb crowning in the Eastern window, trembling rainbows on its silken limbs of light, I shift dreams soft as a drone drawn with a promise of seeds now clung to my face, now my body is threaded with her bestowal of obsidian eggs each one her song swaddling, as I awake deep kneed in winter’s dark expanse of bone shards plush with leaves, ash I remember the shed closet housing bags of earth enriched with this stuff— rooting through it with my palm steadily crumbling an orbit around the trunk of my Tulsi plant, the sudden honeybee ascendant to my third story deck, angel in fur sent from a distant hive and hovering its head into each drooping bloom, revolving as the ribbon that flicks the Holy pole, staked in mud and scraps of yore— its fuzzing twirl mapping the hidden wick between starlight and dirt I thought hard about how soft it came, a sigh in the wind, to taste the purple nectar whispering of itself from the blackened chocolate earth but robed in pollen, I see now the flower has a plan. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1707429552374-XCN6Z2MN0XSK5YRHLDB4/unicorn.jpg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1558126803064-JAI3GHK3V3NQEMFUWCQT/DSC_0113+%282%29.JPG Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1716176600944-Z1Z7BUQGJW0QF8NHYSKR/image000007.jpeg Poems - Walking with the Trees on SE Bidwell Meandering the blocks, tracing patterns of wind, the geometry of breath, at dawn I ascend as juncos spurt some chatter and maple’s leafy face yellows to reveal its veins saying you cannot hide from your body delivered on a ray of light, as a bee left from the hive knowing why and that she will return coated in the hue of petals’ morning skin with their first juices spun with dew, drawn for her kin, in every cell of comb the gold begins to pool, she fans her offering to make it sweeter as I imagine the silken air beneath her wings now woven through the wind in me saying breathe this life as though it is overflowing and drifting through the many humble Trees who stand beside you simply lay your cheek into their bark feel their long living heart, alive with the song and flitting cells of birds who claim you are safe, every breath accepts how much you need this Earth. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1724986149110-D3GBWZMGJKLF5VAIYIGW/IMG_0510%281%29.jpeg Poems https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1725080907759-BK2D60J2QBBEABMCJ7XE/ceremony.jpg Poems - Initiation On the path my foot is a dream of skin knuckled grooves emanate light it is strange, looking down then up. No one is here. The path is a canal that appears as you step both bare soles forward into the wind their soundless press rippling dendrites through space, your body breathing itself, wings on the back of your smiling soul on a cliff's edge facing the moon as she dreams of your body enrobed in silver your body, it bows offers a feather from your palms. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1731390754407-ZTXRGWE4EF96XJTT95LT/62257429278__52E26EF0-5C09-4752-9F07-7AA232564A5F.jpeg Poems - Transverse Orientation For my cosmic ancestors, for the mountain moth. i. The fridge is tired, it hums, chokes, fills the hall. It is the dark moon of October. Outside streetlights paint the night lot, bleed amber over the sill. My borderless body spins the beginningless blood of my heart through blue lumens, infused by lungs reaching out to gather in my ancestors’ first and last breath ii. which I remember streaming upward through carmelizations of dawn diving with a Flicker, spiraling free- way wheel, collecting in the treads of rubber, in the stripped grooves of feet, bunching before the burrowing snout, shot from whale spiracle to gull beak, sparkling the scattered dust beneath a ceiling fan, richocheted through the streets—homelessly homed within a membrane of winking stars breath slid across wet melon halves, waking the bear with jelly-orange hues blown threw wands to join the wind forming skin on salt taffy, air in the chewing mouth of creation, every flame that has suckled your breath, merged with your gusts, boundless iii. you zipped in a suitcase boarding the slow metal to New York the night you visited just miles from my window to discover I was so afraid to die did you? iv. see the guttural traces? of mountain soil beneath feet your (my) hands cradling crimson mounds of kalyna berries under twilight blue-pink, smashing a stone on a stone bawling water, glints v. of the slow returning eyes softened by sky: the prayer before words the moon within the moth vi. the moth, it flutters right angles around a false light, enacts the wild way of the body inside a house despite displacement— how it ventured here shivered into a dark triangle, its centroid vii. larval belly sated with my grandmother's wool hat hemolymph pumped through wings hormones of the moon, or a dream, emerged from the silken cast, sporadically flapping the dark hallway pregnant with electrical hums, to land in each pink splotch cast off a bulb of light, light that would not be but is— the moth viii. the moth’s back requires the moon to orient her entire, wild life. I can go so many ways with this, but the ancient back of my teeth want truth. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1609343642036-QHXH8C6360F7HA9JO4I9/102_0286+%282%29.JPG Poems - You miss her already For Mom It’s the flitting yucca moths every third season or updraft from the sea that smacks your face clean, late night rub my feet or popped corn merging you two with hope kernel, flight, salt, you name it— maybe its the cheek hug with her who mostly runs hot, the warm fleshy press you never prepared to miss maybe you will see a swan and remember her pouring coffee or drawing a bath for you no less and the only feet which creak the ground are yours but maybe you wear her socks or write about the scent of her wine skin you happened upon in a pillow, and ask the growing sky if she is near? And the trees if she is in them? The ceramic bowl once plush with cabbage and cottage cheese, her fork clanking upstairs, dessert bowl of dry granola, everything she never missed? https://mollyburack.com/collage-art daily 0.75 2020-03-22 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1548791526236-M6H09AHGKR378F1T04SE/DSC_0001+%284%29.JPG Collage Art https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1551211857828-PX5BCR5MHK44JULUIWHY/DSC_0006+%283%29.JPG Collage Art https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1554234153661-9HL30BUCT6XION62SDXL/ballerina.jpg Collage Art https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1577222012040-2QOOUUQYJL75Z48P9G1U/guardians3.jpeg Collage Art https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1581552309874-6TQFRBQLGGZIIODXVR4A/forgiveness2.jpeg Collage Art https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1582295617886-L3OJLVFVU0LPSQWIFXJ1/64FE8D2B-D10B-4703-98D9-193054A04D32.jpeg Collage Art https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1584845338454-XYBIYWOXMKD1NBSSQWDP/CC8D2901-F0B1-4B31-BB06-4E6887C43DA7+%282%29.jpeg Collage Art https://mollyburack.com/new-project-1 daily 0.75 2019-06-09 https://mollyburack.com/new-project-83 daily 0.75 2019-06-09 https://mollyburack.com/new-project-49 daily 0.75 2019-06-09 https://mollyburack.com/mandalas daily 0.75 2020-10-29 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1575942879222-L60CR3Q014XCDM5KN6WI/mandala21.JPG Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1575944147322-QAIFOZ4YE0KAQ68AGVKG/mandala.jpg Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1575947014741-RUUBWAXJQRTWNA1UDHLG/mandala2.jpg Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1575947122308-XHUTDN7OW5R27NOHRD3M/mandala13.jpg Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1576434562759-DAW8H54HC0IBM6ZCRXBO/bouganvillea2.JPG Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1576436047998-RW6YRZH07J6GEUATP1ME/fm16.JPG Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1584307768814-V0691OKW4125PE8FX8T5/cactusmandala9.JPG Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1592151966098-666V087XQ35WVRZ50CFR/fertilitymandala4.jpeg Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1598727864926-YKI7XNQQWH5ZS6XU030Q/flower+guard.JPG Mandalas https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1603992917793-Y6DOX6LWUP78W6KC1ELS/mainedit.jpg Mandalas https://mollyburack.com/felt-care daily 0.75 2023-06-21 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1d0f4652-3978-40af-bcf0-10b09f3305aa/hug5.jpg Felt Care - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/d3f7b66c-9f9f-4c56-8887-38317e484eaf/6660EC54-92A2-4A48-ACC1-B439A715B3BD.jpeg Felt Care - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/c456b495-3b17-437f-a78e-c9b02b2a8f22/DSC_1157.JPG Felt Care https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/57ae6a2c-0aa5-415f-8d71-e75cad2f5028/0667C89A-B450-4275-AC03-960A760C341A.jpeg Felt Care - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/8d9976f9-c8b0-4b89-b5bb-b690b3aa942f/719E14DB-BFE6-4FED-8CB6-918DD4E73815.jpeg Felt Care https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/f22405f6-6014-4409-8b51-e5eba95c8223/DSC_0082.jpg Felt Care https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/9d5a2761-8826-49f8-9126-d956d427199b/E5AF6F45-5297-47CD-975B-FDAB949F9FD7.jpeg Felt Care - 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Make it stand out Art on local library box https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/252f7712-6a66-4dfb-9eb2-367a0f1394a7/CB05E021-B2CD-4076-B41F-916D3EC59486.jpeg Felt Care - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/80ab7935-0695-479c-89e6-8b9379f5882a/DSC_0068.JPG Felt Care - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/9693e92c-97ca-413a-91fd-531805d61443/D4C248AA-2CC4-46C7-8544-37027A65B580.jpeg Felt Care - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1679629621826-QG1Z3UKIYXHQ4ANYK97Q/hug5.jpg Felt Care https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/1685334344687-32W1LAYS9IRHRUWQBQWB/0C698348-C3C0-457C-8A23-A52855E9E766.jpeg Felt Care https://mollyburack.com/welcome daily 1.0 2021-10-08 https://mollyburack.com/about daily 0.75 2024-10-28 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5bb15b360b77bded2a90b4d9/bc035278-5e4b-4f86-9b92-09ed92ea2131/molly+and+maya%281%29.png About