Daily Archives: November 27, 2018
.. , and silent salt. The squawking cry of hungry gulls. The broken praise of trees. She’s on her knees in dark -est hour, bone-tired and waiting. Forgive her, Father (Son, and wholly long-loved ghost); at most, she’s brave. She’s … Continue reading
.. When the words won’t flow, she smudges tiny poems. .. In November, we poem.