Intimately Intricate

Somehow life gets better when the only reflection you see, in those puddles, in those glasses, in those windows, in those mirrors, is you.

Intima

October is the month you leave your windows open And let the autumn breeze blow the summer demons out of your soul

A story about family, identity and ritual through the eyes of a child.

A Poem for My Grandson

And so am I, but I’m learning

You don’t want to hear me. A punch to the nose just hit me, again, just when I though I was getting back to my feet. Maybe I’m feeble…