This veil-thin night, the year lays down its life, and the dead draw breath again to wait with us. An original poem-spell-prayer.
Every time he leaves, I hear his death. An original poem.
A first. A grief. A celebration. A poem with an ABV.
New poem, on the flip side of love. CW: grief. Also fire.
Shaping a space for difficult feelings and semi-obscure holidays.