More than once, I’ve felt the night slip closed around me— not a comfort, exactly—& looked up into a sky I cannot refuse.
redwoods
The Smith River and the Lake Isle of Innisfree
On restlessness and holy waters.
Twenty-Seven
Looking for myself again and also trying to lose her
At the Beloved River
Seasonal homecoming. A new poem. Some prose approaching a ritual I don't know how to commit to prose.
Love Song for a River Bank
If your heart was a place, where would it be? Here's mine.
Tara K. Shepersky 