Ideas contained in horse thoughts—
I desire to be weightless like a bird.
I soar in the wind too. Movement in my body 
like grasses twist and bend. I evolve to be
like Pegasus. It’s complicated. I keep floating 
on this aerial path. A hole in the clouds 
leads me to the unknown. Escape expectations. 
I could possibly care less. 

My dad wanted a son.


Ideas contained in deer thoughts—
The shrouded field within reach.
I lean and lean. I try to crawl through
the wire portal to infinity.
Curled barbs halt me. I climb a cement 
mountain near an orange line.
Bump over & over into a wall. 
Humble my body as car horns blast. 
Alarmed, I face my fears. I brush away
mistakes in the gravel. 

I’ve lost the path to my mother.


Ideas contained in crow thoughts—
This trash is mine! I shred, tear small holes,
then large. Fling threads across the manicured 
yard. Scraps of tortilla, tomato, corn 
nourish my body. Mockingbird tries to claim 
my prize. I defend this plastic nest. 
It takes me two years to grieve. I’m not joking. 
I used to spend 45 minutes selecting 
the perfect eggplant. 

My father builds and destroys the tree house.
                        

Feathers and bones in her hands—
decaying antlers enrich the earth
primal temptress charms the winds
a sparrow deprived
of the oxygen of myth

She journals during the art 
poetry meditation. Each breath 
marks a page. She says goodbye 
to her stream. Creates traction
written from the womb.

Fire in the third chakra, 
a mandala of trees and the sun’s aura, 
burns what you choose to forget.

Beginning again, across your 
shoulders, seeds fan 
into Passion Flowers.
You outline with gutta
flames of rebirth.

Before rains fall and grasses reach, 
you are formless.
                        

The locks have been changed. She attempts 
to peek through the bent place in the living room 

blinds. Parents accuse her of stealing the crystal 
bowl. She has stolen before, they say. She buries her 

emotions and holds a moonstone. Decay wired 
synapses. She refuses to collapse. It’s like this: 

They don’t listen to her grainy seeds of language. 
She doesn’t have to find the new key. No longer 

carry guilt of never doing anything right. Punch 
the lies hard. Walk away from the door. She places 

a woven crown made of twigs on her head. Shadows 
behind her ears. Pigeons dart. Summer heat waves 

of green and plum. Basil scent. Rewrites the moment 
breathing through alternate nostrils. Goddess cast out.