tiny fingersnever to graspa world too bigfor such small hands silence wherea cry…
It bubbles up like a mountain spring,pure and unexpected,filling the room with its…
The last tiger pacesin a forest of memory,its stripes fadinglike old photographswhile we…
they come screamingwhite wings against gray skythoughts circlingcircling
In the quiet hours when the world is busy with its able-bodied rhythm, I sit in…