A Place to Hide Stepping off the pavement into parked grass, a shortcut, past the ball fields, behind […]
Your Voice Becomes My Home I feel as if we have known each other for years, yet it […]
A fallen tree became our table,
and setting water bottles down,
like building houses out of cards,
we breathed in the quiet air around us,
listening for the sound.
I am at the fringe of a dream.
Who got to tell us how things are or should be?
“The rot of the Mesozoic
keeps our lights alive”
On stolen soil,