It is something to have gazed on the constellated white, felt it running from the eyes and the pores: the salt of love. It is something to have whispered wild thank-yous in the only ways we know how.
Friend who has fired the kingfishers and flamed the dragonflies – they catch your light however they move and beam it out of their eyes.
I too was pinched off from a piece of clay, I too modeled by omnipotence and flankedby things too wonderful for me
The ocean-blue bowl won’t refuse to bruise, won’t hold it back from the gaping earth-wounds.There will still come water, chill wind and happy goosebumps, and in the utmost corners of oaks, leaves laug...
