I remember
the hour we lost.
It was April,
and the hundred-year-old trees were being born for the first time again.
I felt,
so briefly,
like I had control over time,
although of course I was only doing what I was told, like everyone else.

i once told a boy
that i searched for my own castle,
where the skies were sewn
from only the warmest of fabrics.

gritty grey morality

These ribbons
of carrots?

One morning
Walking into my backyard,
A thin strand of spider silk tangles my legs
With a quiet snap,

Its frustrated author glares
From a high corner nearby.