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...