Ajanta Judd 

We are but threads in an endless weaving, brief constellations of breath and bone, each life touching another, none arriving, none departing alone.

In the gully the trees remember, their bark a script of survival, ridges and seams carrying the imprints of seasons, of hands that touched, of people who walked these paths before us, their breath woven into sap and shadow, their presence never gone, only changed.

I am waiting for a stream of consciousness to enter my wired tired brain the divine channeling which I yearn for to write my way into the...

There is a bushfire in my heart A sudden eruption Spewing forth heat

She walks not to arrive but to listen to the rustle of eucalyptus breath, to the whisper of the dying, to the hum of ancestral chords

The universe is my lover I don’t need any other source of love No flimsy romance, no thumb-worn apps, no pleas for validation from those...

Fourteen years, twin flames born a week apart, not brothers by blood, but bound in the marrow of time.

I am only satisfied when it burns cold When the brittle edge of the chill Kisses heat’s searing mouth To the west, to the east, the north an

If, in love’s bitter afterglow you were to spread a sea of jewels at my feet and once more spray me with emphatic words of love and...