Give us a magic trick, but not a miracle.

two coals burning incense clouds to the heavens, abandoned pretty much to the harmony of us

Tiny Lazarus. Your story bigger than you and us.

a thousand pink buds headed toward something that can’t be turned back,

A sudsy swill once, since restored and clean enough for waterfowl to roost.

who, when I saw her, was so small she could have slipped inside a pillowcase