Soulful writing about humans and places
The austere sun gaping its
hungry mouth: unfrozen streets,
hushed voices.
Thin gauze of floodlight,
birds in wedding fever, boughs
rotating lifeward.
Young insects dashing, daring,
thin cellular membrane of
hope pulsates.
My inner mystic is plagued by insomnia and runs entirely on divine grace. The outer shell, however, does occasionally need: jasmine tea, ice cream (preferably salted caramel), good books, music, and new horizons. If you’d like to help keep this blog alive, please choose an amount:
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Writer Between Worlds 