Much must. Old nut bearers, leaf returners. Old man forest and his just sprung wife. I have faith in those wild orange day lilies and forsythia, but Black-eyed Susans and stargazers have fooled me before.Read more "What Will Winter Over?"
House Dust is skin cells shrouding the broom that once gathered them, draping it now in gray; his blind calico’s brown eyelashes; pearl fibers sloughed off thread she strung through buttons two nights before they buried him in his white church shirt; pollen the daisies he gave her exhale from their kitchen jars. They form […]Read more "House Dust"