Awakening Joy
Haibun As I pour out pills to sort into daily containers. As his fingers dig into my armpit, and my laughter ensues. As I get ready for bed with a stuffy head. The raw...
Tagged: quiet
Mourning of the Morning
Poem There were blues in the hues of the morning, mourning the end of night. There, too, were warm rays of sunshine upon the heads of early doves. Words were absent from the...
