Leafing redbuds outside an open window, a birdbath with robins spritzing away winter from new feathers, and a writer sits in a green chair at a desk sharing her observations about relationships through pen on cotton paper.



The paper is swept off the desk by a breeze lifting through curtain sheers, and it floats away from her whitewashed clapboards and vegetable gardens, clearing the tops of trees and puffy clouds and across state lines, to readers afar in beds and in hammocks and in… Continue

it's funny,
the house
looks
the same.

as tho
the sun
arose
and washed
itself a
morning
splash for me!

but this
greeting
today, is of
forgotten
memories.

the window
panes,
,now age-streaked,
ashen.

and for a
moment
the bike's
awaiting my
mount....

only for this moment,
i still live here. *



* re-write, 06/21/10