“e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle” —Dante Alighieri, 34th Canto, La Divina Commedia A tiny thing, a particle, a protein anointed in oil,
The rush of wind that stops at the glass door. Three candles. A pack of cards. Seven quarters scattered about the floor. Two half-empty
At night in our bed, beautiful stars well hidden by thick drawn curtains, you open your eyes and you show me the bluebird inside—in
you have the smallest hands than buds on seedlings have you have them smaller than the hands of seeds in the hands of grass