A white flowering tree pirouetting, dancing, in the rising wind and closing skies before a spring storm. Slowly coming apart in shivers of g...
Picking up sticks in the drizzle. An odd job. Heavier stuff, precipitate. slant sheet slate. Listening to the rain tattle on tin Whispering ...
Hass speaks so plainly of love, of love. It is, of course, the gift of experience, the language of time, and age. Wisdom, we might call such...
Lolling in a boat in the middle of a lake. No wind so the water is still, painted with light. The falling sky reflected back onto itself. No...
Am I happy? Am I verging on dissolution? Where is the difference? (the impermanence of the personal pronoun) ~ We are entombed, hurtling. Cy...
1. Last lingering limns of autumn, her skin the florid color of leaves slowly, beautifully, suffocating. The deliberate way she sheds her ga...