Gabriel Burns


The shelter,
The harbor,
The home,
The heartfelt warmth
Weaving through marrow and bone,
Undulating softness like no other
In the lulling of a song,
The voice of the mother.

Live Hues

I’m raining backwards in the morning 

She is the rainbow; how do I reach her

Sunbeams entwine with rain drops

And at dusk I’m falling back down

Painting encounters

Past and future


Onto stars and clouds that

Dream awake unblinking 

The atlas of her lips