a poet’s levy

certain books stay hidden - those in which loss and love exist without conclusion and at times I may crack them - draw new maps to old places, new creatures of known constellations, and let the moon out into the room once more, to rest on shoulders that can bear the additional gravity a tolerable … Continue reading a poet’s levy

November morning

morning blushes when she realizes where she is and the moon still alight travels through her down the hill toward its own reflection an early crow sitting on the tip of the pine scolds them both for tarrying © Sarah Whiteley

evening fragment

I am transfixed by the kiss of sickle moon to black pine against infinite ink of sky © Sarah Whiteley Anyone else catch that large and glorious crescent moon in the sky a few nights ago? So beautiful!


the moon has captured me by the ankles, is crawling through me and I must burst into new surfaces this morning my hands awoke, and for the first time in years, ached to find something other than air beside them but even without the solid press of your arm on mine, I have found wonder … Continue reading untitled


lying here beside, fingers breathing soft in intermingled time and burning presence, an intruding moon spies the luring slope of slumb'ring shoulders and moves to rest unbidden between as silvery light and unabated as lips that kisses lay in trailing paths to rouse you © Sarah Whiteley

honey sweet

honey sweet hangs the moon in the silhouette of the elm rising cold baring limbs in gesturing winds with thin woodsy fingers so we can better see the honey sweet gleam of the moon just hanging there © Sarah Whiteley