I have no complaints. The sockeye fish hurries up river, but human hearts rest in nocturnal bliss. What scavenges the weak, the herb,
Today I saw a sparrow chasing a tiger swallowtail— the butterfly rose and dipped and veered away like a bright-sailed catamaran in heavy seas
Twining the still-deep-green oak, Boston ivy first bleeds crimson, tipping the season. News scatters like autumn leaves, polling shows nearly forty percent await doomsday.
Thirty-nine presidents make a conflagration when the likes of Bonnie and Clyde feed the flames. Apostles flared into twelve colossal tapers dripping over a