No Small Thing

The dance we do, two partners holding a thin sheet of paper between them, no hands, just bodies aware of that small bit of substance, mute as snow, drifting not crashing into the weight of it; The dance we do locks eyes and hearts as one small thing, defining us,...

Call It Moving On

She’s been dead a couple of years, my soul mate. Lots of people’s soul mate. That was her gift. She belonged to everybody and nobody at all. She was very much her own woman or the Goddess’ woman or at least a powerful woman; no less nor more than I, myself; but still....