Twenty-four

In the silvery light of morning when nothing else matters, save the thread of a cock crowing in the distance; face of my beloved etched stilly in that pale gleam before sound, as might have existed in the beginning, prior to clamorous tires on asphalt; kettle set to...

Awash

I’ve never understood where the salve to heal the trauma of living as a mortal human exists, save in my own heart; I cannot impel you to live by my own standards yet notice eyes brimming with perpetual misery, reflect back on my own need for it, the drive to feel...