Though riverbeds might buckle, breaching wide, I will not murmur. No, I will hold true.
Poetry
Posted inPoetry
The Highest Boughs
The gleams of rain that pool in withered leaves;
The blackened lump of stone amid the ashes.
Posted inPoetry
Liturgy in the Glow
I imagine the algorithms
as monks in long habits,
praying at impossible speed,
Posted inPoetry
At the end of my suffering there was a door
Outside, a snow lay over the lake like ash
Posted inPoetry
How to win the Foley Poetry Contest: Don’t try to win
Writing poetry for prizes is a fool’s errand.
Posted inPoetry
They tell us border nets, 10,000 feet high,
What good are great blue herons reflecting our quiet thoughts
