there's the inside and
there's the outside

the offering is not the candle
but the smoke that rises
lighter than the Word
which is to say
here, rise up to the sky:
be air

same so i am a costume i put on
and take off
the face you see
might be anything,
the asteroid-snake
of my life,
here in time,
is ore inside the mountain
the salt in the green sea
i am
the visible


heart-shaped box

this is the memory that just broke out:

when i was a little girl
i had a box
of things i could not lose
things to take if
i had to go
things i would carry with me

was it an old jewelry box? the family treasures?
a shoe box, filled with scraps of fabric from my grandmother's sewing room
a woven box, made of palm fronds, and filled with beads
three single earrings, a st. christopher medal, and bits of seashell.
a tiny scarab and a red stone.
a note.
and later, maybe a picture.
a time capsule
a love letter
to the moment

now i am the box, and i go picking scallop shells
and tiles of glass
and all the ground aglitter with mica
that blows in the wind