I know something about some things
very little of many things and reserve my
greatest ignorance for understanding
love, myself and human motivation
How’s that
for shingles of flimsy wisdom
on a house expecting rain?
Amber’s death triggered 14 days of torment her presence still felt on the sofa the bed at the door when I came home presenting her brown head and a swinging tail the disconnect to the physical a slaug
we have mountains so gentle they caress water from the eyes others that blow up and spew death to those drawn to that charm rains that can mist leaves gloriously shiny or rip trees out by the roots an
Margarite’s cat Morris arrives at the backdoor with a newborn rabbit, broken-necked and still alive, and drops it at my feet. It blinks and looks up at me. A single bloody tricklet runs meekly down my