coffee under the plums
and the sounds of birds
rustling in the trees nesting,
as I have on this grassy land.
my Temple has created a temple here,
of bird baths and candles and potted plants.
the man I love in the magic school bus,
fragrance from the ocean washes in as
salty waves crash against
the cliffs below us
up on the Mesa
safe up high,
yet close enough to be reminded of water’s power
when one must be humbled in the fragility of humanity
so we tend to the gardens.
everything that is,
is part of our now.
I breathe in and the breeze responds
with its exhale
brushing gently through my hair
like his do.
I sip slowly,
my drink warming from the inside
mirroring sun sensation on my cheeks
my bare chest .
Do you ever watch something fall from a tree,
a stick or a leaf or a piece of fruit,
and feel gratitude for nature’s allowing of your witness?
tall grass swaying around me
crossed legs on plastic
but coming together in a chorus that invites one to sway
up on the Mesa,
About the Creator
A multi-disciplinary artist, writer and sex worker's advocacy support worker, Taylor's cumulative practice comes together as a holistic exploration of identity, sexuality, and how the embodied subject navigates space and the natural world.