the gold of grace
in the tongues of women
that came before me
static when
there is no static at all
keys to
my own ghosts
polishing words
writing your touch
A prophecy
the price you pay on the dusty road
a trail of both bodies
saints are
marching over the wind that
startles the silver sheets
folding into
the candy of the blessed
in the tongues of women
that came before me
static when
there is no static at all
keys to
my own ghosts
polishing words
writing your touch
A prophecy
the price you pay on the dusty road
a trail of both bodies
saints are
marching over the wind that
startles the silver sheets
folding into
the candy of the blessed