This writing was accepted for publication
in an issue of Down in the Dirt magazine:
Stephanie V Sears
Big and skillful,
eyes sliced slim and
sidelong on his face
made words go numb.
The simmer of violence, if any,
nature disciplined.
His island was predisposed to silence
through the lone hoot of the Karavia.
We both drew on that quiet
like sailors on halyards,
feeling our hearts’ hemp
twist and tighten.
When apart, we called
over the unselfconscious miles
returning language
to its numinous form.
We summoned each other
across the star distilling hills,
the moon’s loose bolt of sea.
It even happened once that overcome
by distance, we entwined our initials
in the pulp of a tree.
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