BurningbirdRecovered from the Wayback Machine. I’m in the process of moving my poem/photograph pairs to Paths: The Book of Colors, replacing the existing content. I really like the design and layout of the pages, and didn’t want the effort to go to waste. I believe that the design and the name are appropriate fits for my […]
Recovered from the Wayback Machine. Not wanting to embarrass him, but how extraordinary, how uncanny that Jonathon posts a photo of Audrey Hepburn at his site, when I was thinking about her yesterday as I walked past ponds, surface water unrippled by winds or the movement of fish; smooth as glass, and as reflective as mirrors. A few […]
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful — The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have […]
Where the path closed down and over, through the scumbled leaves, fallen branches, through the knotted catbrier, I kept going. Finally I could not save my arms from thorns; soon the mosquitoes smelled me, hot and wounded, and came wheeling and whining. And that’s how I came to the edge of the pond: black and […]
Where the path closed down and over, through the scumbled leaves, fallen branches, through the knotted catbrier, I kept going. Finally I could not save my arms from thorns; soon the mosquitoes smelled me, hot and wounded, and came wheeling and whining. And that’s how I came to the edge of the pond: black and […]