- Addressing the dead— . . .
- quarantine . . .
- through the cracks of sleep ni . . .
- Autumn chill . . .
- wild mushrooms . . .
- It’s as if he plays . . .
- festival . . .
- running a stick . . .
- Declaring a truce . . .
- two hands . . .
- lightning . . .
- unfurling ferns . . .
- the monarch’s shadow . . .
- with her two hands . . .
- the way . . .
- my mother’s last word . . .
- Peapods beaded . . .
- breaking the skin . . .
- the radio drones . . .
- I practice . . .
- He has, you will find, . . .
- end of the . . .
- anniversary day – . . .
Archive for October, 2014
-
Addressing the dead— . . .
-
quarantine . . .
-
through the cracks of sleep ni . . .
-
Autumn chill . . .
-
wild mushrooms . . .
-
It’s as if he plays . . .
-
festival . . .
-
running a stick . . .
-
Declaring a truce
. . .
-
two hands . . .
-
lightning . . .
-
unfurling ferns . . .
-
the monarch’s shadow . . .
-
with her two hands . . .
-
the way . . .
-
my mother’s last word . . .
-
Peapods beaded . . .
-
breaking the skin . . .
-
the radio drones . . .
-
I practice . . .
-
He has, you will find, . . .
-
end of the . . .
-
anniversary day – . . .