The Imperfect Rose
Torn and brittle, Bruised and used, Mistreated and misunderstood, A rose ever so delicate, Needs patience […]
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After the Rain
In search of strangeness I slow walk uphillpines, birch, maple, ash, August companionsold wooden basket on
Playground Wars
Josie Baker looked down at the holes in her teddy-bear pants and the skinned knees underneath.
Fog of Age, Pieces of the Moon, Black holes, Deaf foghorn
The portent of age My name is unimportant. It has scratched the surface of wonder. The
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Five Minutes
‘Are we there yet?’ Madison asks. ‘Five minutes, Maddy,’ her father, Gerald, replies. ‘But you’ve been
