Mornings I place them by the open window close to air and light freshly watered freshly changed. I unfold the sheets and eyes follow
Not Sunday but the bell on the cat’s collar seems a benediction as the cat rolls in the dust, feathers its black coat with
Feasted on discarded gooseberries, two young raccoons fled like seabirds up the thorned blacklocust branches. A half-moon sunrise over a carcass with horns and
Like cleaning waves of water with the same: entering a feeling into a room of feeling. Admitting to love with a finite mouth. I