-
In the village of Heydon,
a civil parish of Norfolk, England...
-
First, the snow does,
as your favorite...
-
The sky is grey today
Like the concrete layer of the buildings...
-
writing poetry
for my mirror revealed a...
-
Incessant flies are buzzing
In these fire-hydrant times...
-
Moonbeams shadow tears I shed
concealing emotions, during a time...
-
-
she sat in darkness,
her face glowing from...
-
poetry resides at the tips of your fingers, you...
i know this intimately, because i saw the sun rise...
-
after the monsoons
puddle the red earth into clay...
-
your tongue is the lands where
i harvest sugarcanes and dates...
-
Lady Wind, through rustling leaves,
where she doth blow, they go...
-
the sounds are getting louder
and the wick is losing its fire...