Féithe

My work happens in between worlds. A seam of brown grass and thistle. Chainlink, beaten. A flicker of sunlight on the old gable end. A world of small gifts, made of dust. Intimacies, so gorgeous, and I’m a thief. Third spaces offering peace in a world that eats itself. Give me a matted down field, I’ll return with prayer. Offerings made from a collection of bones.