Foxes and Magnolias

Poetry for keepsakes, for longing, for letting go.

Into/ In To

You said

I’m way too


to you.


I wasn’t sure in which way you meant,

so I just moved


let you breathe through movements

so that moments lasted


(somehow noon before getting out of bed with you-

falling in and out of sleep and woven arrangements

with you).


I took notice of blue shadows where the sheets creased,

your eyes (green today),

looking back at me.


You don’t look at me simply.

There are novels in your eyes.



If you meant otherwise-

I know.

I’m in to you


The Moon in You

We drove on up to Lookout Mountain

on Sunday evening, when the moon was big.

I forgot to watch it though,


was watching you



pouring tea for us

from a thermos

into two copper camping cups,

green gunpowder

with honey.


watching your fingers twist the lid back on again,

pick up objects, put them down again,

holding my hand, my exposed kneecap.


Watching the way you are under the moon,

watching the moon in you.


A New Kind of Love

Maybe there are no words

for something that has never been before.


This is a new way of being alive.

This is a new kind of loving,

with you.



The Space Between Trees

We laid in the hammock after midnight

speaking through the moonlight.

You grazed my eyebrows and cheekbones

with the tip of your thumb.

I discovered the space on your neck where your beard stops

and skin turns soft.

The dogs were barking.

Everyone was asleep aside from Pat,

who kept coming out to offer us beer or boxed wine,

but we didn’t want any.


We belong in the space between trees


On Cool Nights, You are a Warm Sunset

Last night the sun was setting and your face held the colors of it-

first the blue hue of the sky

and then the pinks and reds

until the city lights popped up all at once in the foothills below us.

The moon was so full.

You make me so full.

Dating Rules

Only be with someone

whom inspires poetry,

the poet in you.


Moonlit Writings


Headlights passed us slowly and infrequent

as we sat on the curb to write poetry together-

word by word, you then me.


Your right knee lapped over my left,

just slightly.

I remember noticing how it was warmer there,

where you were touching me.


The moon just bright enough

to differentiate ink from the paper it looped over

and made lines on.


the lines on your face when you’d smile

from noticing I was watching you

as you thought so hard about what word

to place after the last.