How quiet outside at night with the crickets coming on and the sound of a fan somewhere, then something papery in the breeze, rainbow-colored wind socks, phantoms, deep sea creatures floating on a different speed, a dark, ancient voodoo, a… Read More ›
american indian symbols
The weight of space in the eyes
Crow wings beat hard to keep themselves up They hop, squawk, strut Never once complain. We call them death: Their eyes the color of space Cold, dark, the wisdom of the infinite confined to a frame. Maybe there’s no warmth… Read More ›