Whenever Ben left the house, whether he was walking Syau or we were driving…
All of this same,amounts to serenity, sometimes;and yet, rooted in that faint glow, there is a nudge, or a touch––a…
a poem of wandering
morning hangs heavysaturatedwarm;my preoccupationspalpableeven to thetiny creaturesof…
Waking into penitence.Something about the cold weatherreally puts my mind into a…