It isthe every dayquiet,deceivingly ordinary,drunk happinessI wear,when you,wrap songsofmoonshinethat begin to playas singular notes,from the soles of my feet,slowlytwistingintomelodiesthatsweep upandpassmy belly,with the weight of feathers.The laughter pools in my eyesand settleson the nape of my neck,the bare skin,usually coveredin unintentionalmodesty.I want to linger thereas long as I can,open my eyesand realize twenty minuteshave gone bysince I last noticedwhere I was.See More

No soy rosa,ni lirio.Soy bromelia,Do not mistaken me for a rose,I am no rose,nor amethyst hued iris in spring bloom.I am a hearty bromeliad,entrenched in the cleavageof exposed granite,growing forcefully outfromwithin deep pockets of serpentineand obsidian.I am found,brightly thriving in aridunforgiving terrain,an unexpecteddeclaration of life.I am here,waiting,in unchanging form,etched,intosacred sites of our ancestors.My colors,a reminder of your own sacredness.Dear one,if you are thirsty,my…See More