Poetry

After the illness struck, those who lived near enough gathered to bury the child.

A downed oak, toppled by time, pithless log leveled, imploding, rotting edifice under blown snow ...

Rococo branches' scribbled bliss (to skies of cirrus filtering streaking-linen grace ...

I felt such freedom, when they had departed.

In dreams an island looms in silhouette and speaks through the outline of a mouth and murmurs ...

The color of deep ice, the blue frozen in crevasses, a hue like none other.

That moment when, in the midst of wreckage and tears, you see a scarlet cardinal across the way ...

What if, when my steps darken a sanctuary to become separated from the world, a holy inferno enveloped my body ...

Sitting in his throne of stone, cut from crags atop the world’s tallest mountain, overseeing all, the king-god breathed deeply in his lungs before exhaling forth a rushing word, what appeared to mortal senses like raging winds that carried thundercracks across the waves ...