Friday, January 28, 2011

Cold snap

Lupine jaws
with a flick of spit, a frothy comma
running shallow
as a laugh along your spine,
hackles raised into
a sacred crown of splintered frost

Rachel Westfall
January 27, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


I am looking for you, my friends
and that is why
I sing of the hollow ground.

The wind carries my thin song
through the stones
stones of cairn, barrow
and forsaken wood,
the scrub brush of the divide.

The sharp tinder scent of night
gives an answer,
silent and long, the end of song.

Rachel Westfall
January 26, 2011

Friday, January 21, 2011


Your hand is gnarled by its timeless
grip on the weathered fence post,
that last frail marker of where we end

and the next begins. Between your roots,

we dig rough graves in thin rocky soil
and mark them lovingly
with found-stone cairns. They sing

in scattered rows, measuring time
imperfectly through their slow tumble,
frost-heave, and lichen’s patient growth.

Rachel Westfall
January 21, 2011

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Cleaning house

There was a small hope of love
like a game between fickle birds
not those who mate for life
and grieve into bone-racked hunger
when one loses the other.
That small hope flickered
or was it more of a withering
a cactus bloom, pearled
and gaudy as an everlasting yet
turned to twisted crepe overnight?
Rachel Westfall
January 15, 2011

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Still in bed on a January morning

And then the sun comes out
a pale winter surprise kicking small dust-moths
into a startled flutter
And the pale yellow light
is open-souled as your ruffled head
on my pillow
And I’m drunk and lost
in the enchanted smell of your sleep
Rachel Westfall
January 4, 2010