Light in the wings, down to the vein, the honeybee’s plum and gold. Near a windowsill, the black bands dip like rags slipped in
Dear oscillating fan: The anticipation of your cooling swivel undoes me. Don’t we all wish to be motorized inside sometimes? My rotor just waiting
I thought of our dishwasher, born 26 years before we moved in. Just last week, it coughed up its last spume of water. It