Jul 6, 2024 | Fiction, Poetry |
I. Truly, I live in dark times! An artless word is foolish. A smooth forehead Points to insensitivity. He who laughs Has not yet received The terrible news. What times are these, in which A conversation about trees is almost a crime For in doing so we maintain our...
Jun 29, 2024 | Fiction, Poetry |
There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted who disappeared into those shadows. I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the...
