Dandelions expire and their hoary seeds are gentle as they urge the Spirit into spheres of truisms and because they are so delicate and soft they do not inflict any pain at all except that I must pull them from the dirt of their mothering roots so that the garden might thrive, the blood and…

Tonight, new moon rising like an absent ghost, I am the sentinel with her back poised upright against the wall, awaiting its drift of sleep, and as well the sleep of two children, their senses lost to world, and the world lost to their senses. I light a candle to find the light, and click…

The sunset resists itself and in its premature glow while I un-clock myself supine in the bathtub I converse with the trees that I can see through the half-lowered blinds on the window. And sometimes the trees are as ancient as a whisper of lives which exhale into other lives upon lives, and then sudden…