There’s something about her that evades photographs
Something about her eyes or hair, her smile
That evades capture
Flying through the net with ease
And grace
Something about her that evades even words
That you see shine when she laughs
If you’re with her a small while
You’ll glimpse it I’m sure
The tease
In the way her eyes crinkle and her face
There’s something about her that floats beyond-


The Lunar Tic

I wish not on a star but a crescent moon

For that same steady light that sears not inside

And silver swathes over over heartshaped looms

And fills dragon veins in boiling tides.


Artemis, patron sweet, I care not for the chase

Nor the chaste nor untempered nor all you possess

I admit since June I’ve felt an older embrace

Now I care but for the stone, and not heiress.


I shun your pillars, I am now just a girl

For Man cannot be pure. I submit to that doom

Since heaven tempts less than my unclean world

And I loved not a star, but a crescent moon.


This damned window is more of a lens
The way it bends the light in forms and figures
And sly peculiars the mind can’t quite configure
See now the glass bends to a leaf all in green
That skitters serene on a grave of oak ash
Watch how it took on a whim to the cool summer winds –
That same air that left kisses on the window in mist –
The leaf rises ever higher, afraid of the earth
Until it drops through my window, the surface rippling
It hovers uncertain, unknown and unsound,
Then alone in the air, then alone in my hand.

The Kraken and the Sailor

A single groan, then a wretch from the sofa
Where that undead slob is rising at last;
How did we get to this end? I wonder,
As I pour him his morning glass.

So I break his whisky on the rocks
With the wails of a Siren sweet:
“Wake up!” she screams to vacant docks,
For she seeks the man incomplete

And alone – and filled with cracks,
Caverns and gaps that tear at the seam
And beg him to disinfect the tracks
Left by the sailor at seventeen.

But with a pitiful sigh and a jingle
Of keys, she slips back into the sea
And leaves her bilgerat to circling gulls,
She slams the door – I’ve taken my leave.

For I’d rather waste away in empty caves
Than slip on this gaff of poison pretence,
And he was soon borne away by the waves
And lost in darkness and distance.