for Shi Shi

out here the rain and your book are my only companions, and the only thing that matters is the campfire and keeping the sparks (bright, living) from too-close legs where fabricated light cannot reach solitude is no longer secondary, but breathes with my breath, and pauses in the dark - intending everything, but only later … Continue reading for Shi Shi

losing my keys

keys lie nestled in my right pocket where they can remind fingers that there are roots to be had connections that cannot so easily be pulled, no matter the direction taken by forgetting feet which ride out strange asphalts, and long grasses, stretches of sky so wide we all lie swallowed by it shadows in … Continue reading losing my keys

the afternoon after

the afternoon after arranges itself - black limbs, off-white shroud, the dark of the damp on the interrupted grain of the bench end where I've settled for solitude, for seeking the green among the gray the afternoon after © Sarah Whiteley

I am becoming…

I am becoming the color of fall when it stoops to November, russet when it succumbs to gray in quiet, unnoticed ways until suddenly the briar leans bare against the fence bleak, wild and forgettable © Sarah Whiteley


you are mistaken, dear friend - it is not loneliness to be in such a space, where solitude might be relievedly embraced it is not lost when the venturing writes a trail to rediscovered peace © Sarah Whiteley


after a poem by Ono no Komachi too soon the bloom has slipped from the stem - a light lost over the deepening sill of evening and back and forth, the beads are slipped slowly down the thread while I wait with the rain