Spit
It reeks of brittle edge, Unrolls blankets of harsh change toward winter. "Ain't to be trifled with."
Displaying posts in Poetry
Appalachian Spring
Why is it that Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring can leave me sitting, weeping on my kitchen floor?
The Steady Ceiling
I seem to find, though wonders great, I cannot solve, fall short my thoughts, I missed my chance. The ship has left. The horse is gone. The horse is gone.
Si Tu me Vois
Then you'll find your place - as you move with grace, Taking comfort in - that skin.