Through my calloused hands
I feel the dirt run through
The indents of the scars
I feel such a closeness
To the simple earth.
I feel loss for those
Who are afraid to dig;
They feel afraid,
They are afraid to be
The humans they are.
Our desert (haiku)
I look through photos Our life through the four seasons Back through the old ones. Blossoming in spring With all the diverse flowers ...
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There is ink in my pen And I'm pretty sure If I put it to the page It would come out, Creating some sort of mark On the blank pages. Of ...
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The humble drops of water Fall from the furthest reach Onto modern art in the garden: Flushing the angles of the sculpture Of the gum wr...
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When I said I'm scared that was an understatement. When I'm too blind to see things when they happen And too used to second chance...