What makes a writer, what makes a circle of writers? Is it the commonly shared experience between them – seeing the world’s actions as themselves acts

WritingOrdinaryEverydayAnother pageStarting overUntil they comeThe words spill outOn to the pageSomedaysMeaning comes with themOther daysIt’s just practiceBeing thereTo see, to listen, to writeThe fingers tapping

The darkness of the night reminds me of another time. The simplicity, the ease, when the smallest difference was monumental. There is another way I

These little letters we put together So full of life from another time Across the page Into the air Spirited by the lives that become

Breathing is in my nature It’s somehow the thing I took most for granted Never did I know how or what it was really Until

Have you ever been in a group trying to put together a puzzle  that’s come in a bag without the picture or image? It’s really hard,

It’s been a week little friend… you are my little friend…my little keyboardthe one I tell little secrets too…the secrets I don’t even tell to

The land is hotWhen the fire cameIt rolled through housesOver peopleBlew up carsThe flames consumed everythingOld photos, deeds, dishes, refrigeratorsThe only thing it leaves is

The sun inches up The sky trips as it changes each minute a new shade of blue The outline of the horizon becomes more distinct