The last thing the Gittite saw was a laughable pebble flung by a gnat of a boy …

The hate mail appeared in the church Suggestion Box …

After our home burned down in the Tea Fire, I started picking up trash on the streets …

Deplaning the gondola after the steep ascent into the cloud-turbaned peaks, I am stepping high …

We’d become accustomed to the wonders that he worked–the wheel that drives the mill …

Life does not consist of accumulating small comforts …

My Loud I sit beige and bubble-wrapped when all my friends forskae me for jobs …

Yes, the seeds are small, the ground hard and rocky …

The room, replete with what is about to happen, is full as well with coughing …

We have no uncontaminated words for this

The women—I want to say women, but really they were girls …

This morning I released, without a doubt, the same bright trout I gathered in my net …