Those thin lines between worlds, they hang like a veil, like a heavy gravitational pull. No borders between skin and air. Winds that wrap around trees like silk, turning branches and leaves to watercolors, ebbing and flowing.

A midnight veil, dividing day and night, as summer melts into autumn. Metallic air tasting like copper, brass, gold hanging under the silver moon, the platinum stars.

The midnight geese are calling, their trumpets echo, a symphonic rustling of leaves somersaulting, chasing time in the streets.

The cool air of dusk and dark enters through the window, like tendrils, it crawls along my neck and down my arms. It tells stories of migration, of black feathers meeting black sky, of synchronous wings beating, of spirits riding currents, joining the flock in unison, the trumpeters sing, “I’m coming home, I’m coming home”

To lay their heads down, the lost souls that touch my face, that take refuge in my heart, that settle themselves in the empty space of my bed. Let sleeping spirits lie, stretch their mouths and memories.

No borders between worlds, surrendered to the crevices between. The midnight geese, they call my name. The wild wind, she whispers…

Come home. Like the ghosts that guard the night, the ones who change the clocks and paint the seasons. When the dark arts coincide. Come through my window. Spin your worldly tales.

Where shadows drown the sidewalks and spirits thick like fog can walk among us, enter through us.

Autumnal migrations. You are coming home, to your insides, to your bones and breath. To a softer time of year where life gives way to death. Leaves falling at your feet. You are coming home.

#liberatedlines #liberatedlinesclear #wedontedit#noborders #equinox #autumn #spirits #poetry

Past the Hour of Sleep

Last night I lay awake past the hour of tired. I heard the sky break open, thunderous claps, hard beaten rain, wind whispering through the curtains. The streets were still. My naked body stretched in humid sheets, sticking like honey. The pressing of heat, pressure systems colliding in the sky. I felt awash in the night air, as if there was no separation between the surface of my skin and the air. No separation of raindrops and sweat. The air wrapped around me like a second skin, the dim glow of street lights illuminating my curtains, casting copper light on the front of my thighs, trailing down my legs and sliding between my toes. 

A sense of mystery that the small view out my window, looking over rooftops, caught between electrical wires was expanding and contracting, growing deeper and wider with each breath. I felt the ebb and flow of oceans beyond borders of land, rolling over treetops, the slate blue horizon seemed as if it were the edge of the world, my feet upon the precipice.

I moved in slow motion, some sort of conscious projection hurling myself out of walls and window screens. Suddenly the world was open, electric lines of communication and words delivered as dreams to lost loves, unrequited. I felt them all as ghosts and kissed them gently upon brows, upon bruised cheeks…unknowingly, I thanked them, for teaching, breaking, bleeding and keeping me hungry. The opening of hearts and lips, a portal of past selves floating in puddles.

I once called love, knew it by names and shapes. It now echoes, a deep cavern tucked in my ribcage. Where once it was locked, an abandoned house, boards on windows…I breathe in the soft early morning air, it nourishes me, I honor my ghosts who trail behind me, finding homes in my footprints. I set them down to rest. I lie there, thoughts darting like hummingbirds, my skin warm and tender. I release these so called skeletons. I create new space.