Blog – Daniel McCosh

Trees grow from their roots transpiring water skywards

I dream of carrying a bird, anxious of how I would cradle her wings.

Beneath the ancient redwood, a man calls light

My weapon of choice is not a blade but a teacup.

waves fold into waves the salt mist rising in whisps

She walks barefoot in the wilderness earth cloying under her feet.

Dear heart that beats inside my chest.

Let it be known that he who struck the spear piercing my side