This morning, my son
has a conversation
with the sun.
He - a round baby human
behind cloth and cold window.
She - a golden flame
behind blue earth and snow.
He sings and coos,
while she in her brilliance,
peek-a boos.
I am the light.
Sunbeams slant through open sky, slip and seep through fluttering golden leaves, and peek through panes of old glass before settling upon th...
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The word loses its meaning once repeated across this page a s every job I have ever had has lost its meaning once repea... -
One weekend every year, The Mini-Unit travels somewhere together and this February, we bused from Boston to New York City. The Mini-Unit ... -
“Can you put all the cold stuff together? Double bag please, they ALWAYS break....and bread on top.” I agree with their requests like ...
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