The Gift of Loss
We measure time by songs in this country. The distance between two houses might…
There I am, staring at the blank ceiling of my tiny bedroom. The swirling fan sounds almost like the seawater on…
It is that essenceOf salt flatsMountain peaksGleaming lightOn water’s fine edgeLike a new bladeOr molten glassOf purest heat…
Mamma says to him, “She needs blood.”Pacing on stocky, short legs,he looks for answersto the puzzle’s question.
No, I don’t want to step inside.
Iron Man’s Fist and Soul
