Over 80,000 life jackets piled in a hole, punctured and filthy and bleached by the sun, feels like poetry, like tangible words. It feels like memories sealed in plastic, like sorrows under the sun.

Danae Templeton 9/26/17 Danae Templeton 9/26/17

I miss you, I love you, I’ll see you again.

Light pooled beneath the lamp on broken pavement. She crushed her tears with the heel of her hand. “I’ll miss you,” she laughed through the sheen in her eyes. I simply stood.

Danae Templeton 9/24/17 Danae Templeton 9/24/17

loss

Danae Templeton 6/5/17 Danae Templeton 6/5/17

To Leave

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Omnipresence

Who’s seen the moon uncurl from heav’nly bed

And is she formed of rose or hook or smile?

Who’s seen flame’s heart burn far past glorious red

And crouched, entranced, by fire’s side a while?

Danae Templeton 12/9/16 Danae Templeton 12/9/16

My December

December feels odd as the years go by.

I remember the anticipation of the past, the crowding of family, the joy of the gift-giving. Cliché. Common. Special.

Danae Templeton 10/6/16 Danae Templeton 10/6/16

Sonder

In the moment, I never notice.

Looking back at photos, snapshots of times lost, I do.

Every face in those photos is an eternal soul, a person with passions and pet peeves and hidden, secret words. For a moment as I scan the faces, the souls burn through, and I see it.

Danae Templeton 8/20/16 Danae Templeton 8/20/16

Midnight Truths

Sometimes I just don’t have the energy.

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Glory.

It hints of something else, something beyond our knowledge.

The weight of glory, pulling us back out of darkness.