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Category Archives: small stone
1/13/2013
January softens to 62 degrees. We open the windows, welcome air foamed with false spring. My daughter says I missed the smell of the earth, and I know what she speaks to–that blend of mud and grass; greens and browns rolling through … Continue reading
01/14/2013 small stone
Dogs can whine stacatto–the black lab jittering in the cat section of the waiting room has dotted flights to sing–a song with teeth in it.
1/11/13 small stone
I don’t need to have the last word or the first. I must own each one I have been given in between.
small stone 1/10/2013
Once sun strikes that ice, it will slick to a tractionless slide tires try to grab and instead spin. The speedometer goes to 60 in that burn to go (any)where, but you are fixed and spun; not up or down, forward or … Continue reading
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1/9/13 small stone
What is infinite, if not something that defies measuring? This, where we stand or walk, lie dreaming or just sit on a hill, or a stone, or grass, or around a fire, chanting; this had a beginning, and is not … Continue reading
Posted in small stone
17 Comments
Small stone 1/8/13
I am full body and thick bones. If I travel to you through ether, then it is not me weaving a shirt for you from pine needles. It is not me feeding you stone soup and snow bread that will only break butter.
1/7/13 small stone
Pine needles, still smelling of Christmas– litter swept into the dustpan.