Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I.
    walk where no one can
    find you
    not because it is hard
    it is listen, because
    raindrops glisten on plastic chairs
    fire licks the salt in the air
    dirt, grass, the
    sheep-path shell light in your hand

    you share much the same,
    the same beach,
    at the heart of things, the same driftwood,
    mothers, sisters, little brother,
    asphalt and waves

    and yet
    beyond reaching
    to know one is to forget the other
    the island disappearing from the white metal deck
    of the ferry home.

    i can call you apart, i want to say
    what’s pure is past
    i watched the stars burn out
    and wept, yes,
    but a lifetime ago
    i brushed the ash
    off my shoulders
    and opened my eyes to the night

    i’d tell you green
    plant shoots
    with delicate fingers
    whisper you the difference
    between lips
    instead i
    keep my distance
    with these crystals i call hands
    catching the light of a waning moon
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.