Author Archives: lbk

don’t fly off

I am standing in the basement with two men who have come to help. The dirt floor has gone to mud. We are all looking down. Something is stuck and will not flow. The men agree they’re going to have … Continue reading

Posted in in the house of my grandmother | 4 Comments

all the words unhomed

I am so glad to be here. I am weeping. Tears jewel my hair. I know that I am beautiful. I know that I am. I am draped in midnight blue. The drape of it flows off behind me, infinitely. … Continue reading

Posted in the light that opens in the dusk | 8 Comments

medicine woman

I am underwater. It is black and deep. I lie horizontal just below the surface. There is struggle in my stillness. The surface of the water is covered in a kind of skin like black rubber. I cannot push through … Continue reading

Posted in When I touch the pain I become the pain. And then I remember myself. | 3 Comments

Lest you think I have forgotten

Sometimes I think I have lost my tongue. But it isn’t that. I have journeyed so deep into unknown territory, so far out into the world and the real, where everything is strange and wonderful, quick and momentous; I don’t … Continue reading

Posted in long gone walking | 3 Comments


The rider comes on through the gathering dark, leaning into the cold, horse and rider both blowing steam, hoof-fall on hard ground setting a complex beat that wakes and lulls and wakes again. There is wind in the trees, blacker … Continue reading

Posted in a point of nourishment in the fathomless black | 2 Comments

nothing more to be done

She is small and her coat is black. The sky is low and white. She is alone in the woods. Her coat is black and her stockings are black and her boots are black too. Her hands curl into themselves … Continue reading

Posted in the way runs out in winter woods | 2 Comments

storms and shelters

The Wellspring sees me studded in blue lights. The lights aren’t actually embedded in me, but hang in strands, a little off my body, running from my head to the ground, a curtain of lights. They bump and rattle as … Continue reading

Posted in under the protection of the work I set myself | Tagged | 2 Comments