Francine Walls

who could not be her body magical as fog rising in wisps among the grasses playing dress-up laughing wrapping herself in parachute silk...

His scent lingers near his bedroom door, I sniff the air – a startled deer – then feel his absence in the molted room. #DeathValley...

and studying Chaucer in Swansea with students from Llanelli or Carmarthen or Merthyr Tydfil, I would hear the cleaning woman who chatted...

Her expertise shines in examples of the French seam, the hemmed felled seam, the mitered corner and the bias facing. Each sample pinked...

I am turned to ash I want you knowing that I hear your footfalls in the ancient forest, the scream of hawks, the water crazy-mad flowing...