Favorites

presses

& plunging from transbay tube into the unwashed light of the west oakland station, i notice your hands first. sorry — only. i only notice your hands shedding the black gloves, plum veins mapping forefinger to ring, knuckle & valley...

east bay bound

let's have the sun for breakfast.

you whisk the clouds
& i will rinse the stars
until the sky runs clear...

in the morning

i have counted the oceans between us / & i think
​
if i stretch my thumb / from the eastern slope of my stratovolcano / & touch with my little finger / the peak of your three-horned mountain…

5219

let me explain:

it is the everything of her
the whole universe of her

her fury yes & her joy
& her hands, her hands!
& how i would risk hell for her...

Ashley Varela

Selected work (6 publications)

[ugh] feed