each passing day
if i could sit by the sea with an eye on the tide rolling...
thirsty in tangier
sitting on the edge where two worlds meet and sipping mint tea beneath a...
the slow turn
i wonder what a tiny cog in a big machine doing its littlest part...
it figures (my valentine)
it figures ee cummings would emerge from the pages of my personal history (once...
it’s not about (the two of cups)
it’s not about being right from your opposite wrong or the right to become...
still falling
still falling — like a withered maple leaf from the tree outside your window...
about pandora’s box
i. sometimes a box is more than five sides with a lid for shutting...
under your fate
he asked where we might be headed and wondered who would take us there...