Milk light from the blue, aging night sky.
Drink at last of its newness.
Arrival
The way home
The mind slips below
Well before the sun
Swirling
This is where
This is where
the road will go,
but where is where
the future will go?
Window train journal
3rd and 30 from the 45
Put it all in the air
and let it hang there,
our ball of broken dreams
and broken bones
Fish people
Tent at Sequim Bay
I am now in a room where
my father is in a tent
at Sequim Bay.
He’s lit a fire and
his fingers move.
Their shadows are like strings
tied to the tent,
pulling it down.
Utrecht Journal 