
How Brief, Yet How Full
How brief, yet how full that first encounter | between you in your prime and me in my | secondhand life. | Hello, treasure hunter, would you like to dig through this box of mine?
Read MoreVerse & Photography by Kay Kennett
How brief, yet how full that first encounter | between you in your prime and me in my | secondhand life. | Hello, treasure hunter, would you like to dig through this box of mine?
Read MoreWaiting on a slow line at dinner hour | air hunger befalls me, symptomatic | of nothing less than a moral panic. | Life’s too short for gas station flowers and boxed wine
Read MoreOn looking over my harvest field | To see what crop my life might yield | I was amazed to find its state | For I had left it to its fate
Read Moreto be romantic
to steep in bath water
to float in a cupped hand
to read into
to press in a book and forget
to remember today more than other days
to remember what I like to do
to remember who I like to give rose petals to
Read MoreWhen the Old Man fell,
it interrupted all scheduled programming,
including Britney’s tenth birthday party,
where I was one minute
feeling
to pin the tail on the donkey,
and the next listening
for the sound
of a pin
falling.
Falling
like ashes,
ashes from the sky
in Oregon.
Fifteen years later,
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