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"No man knows till he has suffered

from the night how sweet and dear

to his heart and eye the morning can be." 

                                        Bram Stoker

WELCOME

 

How fleeting a moment of communion, of sorrow, the exquisite pain of intense love. 

Words attempt to bring sense and sensitivity to the robust argument of 21st century life.

We communicate in an effort to illicit understanding. Touch joy. 

 

Welcome to the view from my world. 

He

left me, blind seed 

listening to the tap of

crow black talons nearing my perch

in the crook of a tree,

hurry! they cry, our globe's lava core

a whistling boil, it

strains in its iron shell

my spine 

gives way to the hammering beaks splintering my husk

with shimmering eyes they watch my heart topple 

to the ground.

a shower of owlet tears

His Spirit nourishes my rooting faith.

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