what giving creature is this

something like a whispered song

mere touch

her meaning is like the texture of the perfect

my mother has escaped love

that love is no mere enthusiasm

savannah

how comes the muse to the latched-upon artist

swing

she wears galaxies of memorabilia

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

The Dreamers of Dreams

We have a seasonal site at a campground close enough to home to allow us to care for the farm animals, but far enough away for us to feel escaped from the world. A good camp is not supposed to close out all sound, just the busy chatter that we've been fooled to believe is important; the same way those old handheld a.m. radios sound tinny and distant. It's...