Poetry

An open hand and wit enough to grasp the punctured palm and hold on tight, like seas that cannot leave the shore . . .

You tell everyone the dream about the sick horse surrounded by angels who fan its matted mane ...

Leavings from weather that came through last night litter me, litter us.

Yellow butterflied return to oaks in the grove.

I was two on the tv under the east facing window ...

It was the 3rd of July 100 plus degrees her canceer had returned.

Creator Guide, I have most everything I want, my needs are more than simply met ...

Curve of her lip since birth round and wide cherry jello puff and perfect ...