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Metta
Heaven is not white light but early morning and bird song, late afternoon and bird song, bluest night and frog song; the farthest point from the city and wet grass.
Metta
Early morning – there is a band of white light set against the blackness of the window - all that is left of a full moon. My days have this stripe, too amidst the sweeping,... More »
Metta
All this fantasy and grief. Let my house be drowned in the wave that rose last night out of the courtyard hidden in the center of my chest. Joseph fell like the moon into my... More »
Metta
Say to me that which has not been said or written about in failing words. How many ways can we say that night turns to dawn or that the sleeper will awaken? Tell me that which... More »
Metta
the little birds of Bob Marley sing dawn three minutes earlier this morning I grab my eyeglasses to see the moment it comes and still dream the same dreams wake up and stumble wear... More »
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poetry
