the heavens are empty.
blue, headlights, and night image tattoo, moon, and black and white image
summer of the deads.

one day.

the air is gemmeous, sun so clear
that you seek out apricots on fire,
and smell the hawthorn's bitter fragrance

within your heart...

but the thornbush is dry, and black weaves
of dead trees cross the serene sky,
and the heavens are empty, and the ground

seems hollow underfoot.

silence, all around: alone, facing gusts of wind,
you hear in the distance, from gardens and groves,
the fragile foliage falling. it’s the cold

summer of the dead.


stalk my collection.