By the porch,
you put your arm around me
as coffee mug smoke infuses dusty rose air.
Insouciant skies polish their undisturbed edges,
keeping the day sun enclosed behind the clouds.

A group of wood thrush break into chorus.
Their little, tawny, breathing bodies welcome the wind back home.
Deer step across deciduous detritus
following moss trails and river stones.
You take a sip of your espresso.

Then we share a glimpse in each other’s eyes,
casting magic for a split minute.
No words can dilute how we feel,
but once your smile tapers like a vagary unnoticed,
a slight fervor strokes the side of my neck.
Secretly, our senses open their minds for faint meaning
when we return inside to the comforts of our cabin.

Avenue of the Hazo Fanahy


skies of dampened shade
ascend over palpitating baobab tree trunks.
Madagascar sighs.

pious pulp feeds canopy deities;
calms the native understory species.
all eyes look out for rain.


*Title is written in Malagasy (one of the official languages of Madagascar): “Avenue of the Tree Spirits.”

Happy Earth Day! 😊🌍

This poem was inspired by the endangered baobab trees of Madagascar (but they do grow in Africa too), which holds some of the world’s most biodiverse rainforests and animals on Earth. These trees, specifically, thrive in the dry, deciduous regions of Madagascar and serve as a symbol of strength with divine meaning.

For more info on the baobab trees:


***Also please consider using Ecosia for your search engine instead of Google (at least for today), 80% of their proceeds from web advertisements go to planting new trees in threatened forest regions like Africa, Peru, and Madagascar.


(Note: This is NOT a sponsored post. I mentioned the site above because I appreciate humanitarian organizations that do their part to help the environment and make a difference in people’s lives around the globe.)

Beautiful Dark


You were everything I cherished,
every thorn I grew,
until you decided to cut me open
and let me fall out
of your bleeding cauldron,
with nothing but lace red currents;
tattered memories askewed.

Deep within dimensions of blue,
I should have known you were
the beauty
breaking beside the ugly,
the liar
lacking honesty
and any sense of
but I was I too blind to see the big picture
your illustrious colors exude staggering spruce.

Even in the beautiful dark,
I know better now.
Hearts like yours will never be enough
to seal severed scars,
or mend tunnels of turmoil together.

Yet when I breathe in nostalgia,
I’ll forever be capturing
a moonlit memory of you,
embracing the pieces
of our well spent moments
and long conversation afternoons.

You will always allure me
to the edge where I’ll falter,
and I’ll miss you long after
the earth sends me away.

It pains me that you’ve released me by these means,
everything I feel inside has been deceived,
like spring branches stripped of their sleeves.
I wither



the forest pricks my skin
to remind me I’m still alive,
and drafts of winter
crawl up my sleeves,
warning me to stay awake

the world doesn’t end when I close my eyes.

Dreams take form in the fresh, splintered air,
while my mind clears the mist,
so I’m able to climb
where I can feel
your auras,
hiding amongst
the leaves.

I see
you’re scared
to reveal
your true colors
before the spirits.

Darkness wavers
with the dewdrops of the
sorrow and sparrow wings
we’ve shed below the soil layers.

But I promise if you try
the shadows will do no harm.

They only reflect the other half of you:
empty and alone,
searching for someone
to grant you life,
a whiff of reassurance,
that everything will be okay
in these woods
no one has ever claimed for themselves.

the smell of cedar
as I suspect
you coming
closer to my bones,
aching erythronium;
lavish lotus spells.

When I’m upon
the crown
of the
tallest tree,
I wait
for your voice
to touch the sky
and then
send sensations
of red

love develops deep
within the roots—
the nerves, the fireflies
that make us human.



Pressing my hands
against the edges of my jean pockets,
I sit on the opposite side of the bench
inches apart
from you.

Hanging by a thread,
we both know there’s a lot less in hope in the seams,
than there used to be.

I wonder
which one of us
will be the first
to let

I’m not smiling at the incentive,
not crying over the present,
though our heart muscles’ strain is relentless,

I won’t give up on love
just yet.

We experienced so many moments together,
took milestone risks and veered straight through the pressure.
So what happened to all that time?
I’d wish for anything to make it play on forever,
but that’s only if you’re willing to
keep the threads strong.

Because I don’t want to end up threadbare,
stripped thin of every vein I own.
I can’t imagine you finding a replacement,
another heart for your home.

Hanging by a thread,
our exhales grow a little larger,
while your spirits struggle to get high,
but out of all the melancholy,
a lamp post lights up the dark
across bittersweet foliage.
I’m hoping it will give you a sense of mind,
and maybe a second chance for us to grip onto
our heartstrings
once again.