Once I was young, and walked a flowery way;
A greenhouse is its own eternity.
Form is a father: when I looked for form,
I found a leaf, and on the leaf a worm.
Whose lips dare speak? I fear the cold Therefore
And pass, unfeeling, at a feeling’s grave:
A child died here. I was that likely child.
Now I must go beyond:
Who else knows where I am? I’m
A fish lurking close to a boat, a child holding the net,
I live through my black tears, a child of light.
HOMESCHOOLING MOTHER OF 5, ALL THINGS DOMESTIC, MY CRAZY LIFE
poems, and the poet who poems them
(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction
It's always about writing...
Co-author of Mapping the Valley
Freelance Creative Professional
Writer * Editor * Educator * Weirdo
Lifesaving Poems
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(poetry and other stuff, but mostly poetry)
Just another WordPress.com site
a roominghouse for the servants of the duende
pea river journal 
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