Tastes of the Writing

hermitage

It’s not the rise

nor the fall of

slope, or the sweet

trill of new birds,

not the melt of

truffle on the tongue,

nor the kindness of

our host, his wife

or his helpers, but Continue reading

Roman Amphitheatre 2
Italian Excavation

In Grade Nine she read I Claudius
In Grade Six, The Eagle of the Ninth,
But in Grade Three, she read about Pompeii
buried beneath molten lava and
volcanic ash

the book said archeologists
unearthed people
frozen in their daily lives
fossilized forever
by disaster’s sudden flow

Continue reading

In the intimacy of moving and writing together strangers so quickly become dear friends.

I wanted my pen to unwind a thread of ink to stitch us together like this for always. My fingers have touched the braille of your heart and stamped it upon my own.

IMG_1325

We put our fingers

to the latches of loss and longing,

and when they spring open

we are exposed, terrified

and grateful.

Illusions of separation and other-ness

dissolve in our moving of

body then pen.

In the unbearable sweetness of communion

we recognize

home.

– Deepam