Pine Sugar

The air is drenched with cold that grabs at the rock with greedy fingers. Two bushels of needles in your hand past the spattered field where the feet burst from a hedge woven as right as a basket. Sixty miles north the end of an empire slumbers as carbon stains the churches, the palaces and…

We are whole

I went to the museum today and watched my baby drum his hands on cabinets of Rhodolite, Crysoprase and Beryl, And thought about the rainbows of jewels in the dust strewn galleries of Vienna, and how you would never again be there to tell me stories about them. So I held your grandson close and…