the sight of a small grey bird


bright red feather tips

accented yellow

the necktwist


stuck on the front grill

due to impact

we gently pried the clinging lifeless

we dug a hole

near a tree

near its roots

tears clinging to eyes for the small soul

gone and yet still


bright red

clinging lifeless

we placed bricks over the hole

to keep the dogs from digging

a wrapped body

we lit a candle

smoked sage

calling the bird back

we were still

crying over a lost home

we spoke in apologies

not quite sure of the sacrifice

not sure of when or how

this could happen

so we chalk it up

outline the body in red

we are still


spider season

a spider is following

the spiders are weaving

“in summer we do not weave”

“it is against our practice”

spinning webs 

to catch

whoever will fall





The bitch will bite as soon as she’s out

a freebird solo landing 

and rising

a blue heron glide

a swan’s white light


is this all there is?


are there tunnels underneath this rose garden?

the labyrinth to the castle

where she waits

heads will roll


I watched her eat her 


meticulous fingers and hands

all 6 help to devour

she returns to the center

she waits

under the Super Full Moon 

I can see her eyes watching

“thank you for the red eyes”

“do you want 

over there by those flowers

the yellow”

will drown out the red


she waits.

re-opening soon

I’m in Eugene, OR

(well close enough)

typing furiously

to keep away from loneliness




We moved without a plan

just went, GO!


Marveled at giants and ocean fog


headachey and suffocating in wildfire haze

hay fever and dander

constant movement has proved rough and rocky

and yet

we keep going

i remind myself

this moment wandering

this hand out

only temporary


everything ends

easier written than realized

clocks tick so slow here


and all this writing is waiting for a home