Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.