Wind blows over the empty fields.

The days are very quiet and long and hot under a February sun.
I have cut my tethers.

I am drifting farther and farther away from what I once knew.

I feel like a transparent thing.

I am unfamiliar to myself.


widow's walk

i am made of sand
i am made of paper
i am made of glass
i am made of water

and the sea has taken him
the one i might have been
and given me what i am

Demeter has had her way.
and now across these gates
a constellation

the bow-man row me away
on the black-cloak horizon
weeping on wings of wind
widows walk

they said this landscape was built by men
and my dark ships departed

now the tattered sails wash up
and i paint the canvas with blood
always thought (in my youth) ...

the mirror says death is a lover
the sea from which i came
reminds me what i am
made in her name

i am of the wind
i am of the waves
i am of the unseen
i am of the other