We never got used to the smell of rain on other planets. We go outside after a storm and the air is scented with hydrogen, or ice, or acetone. Over time, cultures developed their own terms for petrichor. A thousand words for the smell of rain.

things ive never been brave enough to post: this genre of my art

“you were sudden
and shining

a midwinter’s summer day

your voice pulled, soft gravity
drawing in wayward siren souls in its wake and tide.

thank you for (dis)articulating every last part of me
you left me standing, glass-boned and shaking.

A jar of rattling teeth.

I’d forgotten the sensation of howling winter winds

until there stood just You
(and I)

and the swirling ships

beneath. “

– your voice shone like infinite sight, and devoured me

Twelve fish sit in swirling water.
The glass is fractured, and dripping.
The smell of fresh aloe.
An alarm clock, profound as the sting of cactus.
Seven lightbulbs.
Four candles.
One match.

This has been the weather.


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