Recent Work: 3

[kandake]

Dowsing

The fork of your trunk
sways like serpent's tongue,
bending me, shaping
the curve of my spine
to fit the script,
the silent letters our names neglect.
Peel back the bark-skin,
carve one to the other
with mated lines
til we merge above
as below,
split limbs reaching, reclaiming,
our rings overlaid,
forming figure eight,
now age as one, concentric,
third body rooted,
seeking secret waters,
dowsing.