More than once, I’ve felt the night slip closed around me— not a comfort, exactly—& looked up into a sky I cannot refuse.
Sedimentary
Red and cream rock crumbles in my hand. It asks me: stone or sand? but it doesn't demand.
early morning in the wash
where the road runs out the depth of choosing begins
Reflections on a Sparkling Year
This year, "sparkling?" Yes, and.
The Depth of Choosing
What have you done with our kin that you swallowed, all dusted and silvered with raindrops?
Tara K. Shepersky 