Poetic License

But I learned – the very hard way – that if you never consider yourself, eventually you have nothing left with which to care for anyone else.

certain somethingness

I feared a sonnet love-filled ne’er could be; / For though I’d felt it, words would not align.

Tick Tock

I used to prefer the peace / Of the silent sweep / Barely cognizant of the passing of time

edges blur

looking In or Out the Window becomes Looking

You begin this way:

This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.