useless

  There are times I think of mother with me, no more words to speak, just the holding. Folding into her heart, anything Precious, near though those pieces may be useless now: The pebbles under the sand, like old currency Or the rusty chain links creating palpable places passed over by a bird overhead beating…

The Unlived Life is not Worth Examining

That past is unwavering, it’s done. Regardless of who tells the story, the past is settled and stilled much like the seasons of leaves that have now become the very soil, our natal bedding, below our feet. And while offering recognition to the people and events that brought us to where we are now becomes…