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Metta
"My soul turns into a tree, And an animal, and a cloud bank. Then changed and odd it comes home And asks me the questions. What should I reply?" ~Hermann Hesse She's been telling him... More »
Metta
It is the scent of my own neshamah: Thai tea, that one tree, the subtle smoke, your hair. It is the smell of my own perfection to be that draws me in and makes me weak. It is... More »
Metta
On the window sill sits a sapling - it might be a pink lady, it came from one's core - sprouting green from where no light reaches. Less than a year ago I found it... More »
Metta
my house vibrates with His name upstairs and down entering all ears but one now to penetrate that one self His name from all directions but it is that one call the one that swims hardest cracking... More »
Metta
In the restaurant, verde sauce, cold shredded cheese that she pretends is warm and stringing long from her fork. She loves it when it does that. August afternoon sun through the window and the sudden... 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 »
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