Tulip

A dark orb

opens its closed,

stilled fist of a heart

into a thrum and beat.

Blinded by pressing

darkness and relentlessly in solitude,

tender with translucence

of newborn skin,

it pushes through

coarse, dense earth,

which has held it both safe

and captive,

in ceaseless

pursuit of a sun it knows—

with no proof, and beyond all reason—

is.

Breaking embraces

of constraint and dormancy,

it unfurls itself—

an audacious, wild-green spear

of declaration!—

into the creamy blue,

and, kissed by breezes,

begins to dance.

—Genève Gil

everything I see or want to say

everything I see or want to say is not,
per se, 
a lie.
though vision
is the best for me
to act as language 
on which I rely
to be generous 
in sharing what I witness
as peculiar feats of nature.
like gravity staunchly excluding trees from spinning into sky 
and adamantly, repeatedly 
assigning fog to hug the earth.
and giving answers 
as to what am I to do 
with the slimness of my earthly days 
indulging my curiosities on being,
as this grace of physics is what 
remains for me, 
unquestionably,
a meaning of love.

—Ed Sancious

Untitled

 

 — Kim Mosley 

Portrait of A Self

Here, inside myself,

though never quite alone,

I’m waiting to be met,

to be ordinary,

to be other

than imaginary.

To be a story of becoming

where there’s context 

within faith

and all things make sense

with no chronicles of unbecoming.

Here the act of survival 

is dreaming of walking into, 

then under, 

water.

How is surviving better?

—Ed Sancious

Tide

I was with the tide this eve:  

crash on crash on cliff and shoal

thundered up as foam and drop,  

violence and vibrance one.  

Ocean broken into  

pearls, weightless,

for a moment’s grace,  

incandescent from within…

then cascading back to source,  

low into the undertow,  

down into the deep, deep, deep—

always dancing with the moon,  

whose luminance shimmers

between dark and dark.  




—Genève Gil