This morning, I carried the cold choke of tears from a fading vision, back to the warmth of my bed. Dreams aren’t characteristically so on-time, Ever arriving in a cloaked foretelling. Or standing with its…
Posts tagged dad
on the peripheries of death
Chipmunks and small birds flit beyond the shoulder of death. My father would interrupt my clumsy cobbling of life-memory-love professions with a chuckle and point to the antics of the tiny, striped, tumbling acrobatics in…