each passing day
if i could sit by the sea with an eye on the tide rolling slowly in wave after foaming blue wave would...
thirsty in tangier
sitting on the edge where two worlds meet and sipping mint tea beneath a pale blue canopy as a silver crescent moon...
the slow turn
i wonder what a tiny cog in a big machine doing its littlest part in the grander scheme of things rolling and...
it figures (my valentine)
it figures ee cummings would emerge from the pages of my personal history (once again) to land his message of a moon...
it’s not about (the two of cups)
it’s not about being right from your opposite wrong or the right to become right in the first place (at all) it’s...
still falling
still falling — like a withered maple leaf from the tree outside your window or the first few flakes of snow on...
about pandora’s box
i. sometimes a box is more than five sides with a lid for shutting stuff in — like a bundle of letters...
under your fate
he asked where we might be headed and wondered who would take us there as if some place was already fixed in...