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.
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“Can you put all the cold stuff together? Double bag please, they ALWAYS break....and bread on top.” I agree with their requests like ... -
The word loses its meaning once repeated across this page a s every job I have ever had has lost its meaning once repea... -
To celebrate my 41st birthday, I attend a silent retreat. I go alone to be alone. It is a time for being with being. It is a time for deep ...
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