knocked on the roof
or tossed trees to get our attention.
Here, steady rain against the windows.
All night, the leaves left
while we lay safe in bed and listened.
North wind dreamed of journeys, suitcases.
knocked on the roof
or tossed trees to get our attention.
Here, steady rain against the windows.
All night, the leaves left
while we lay safe in bed and listened.
North wind dreamed of journeys, suitcases.
there's a poem in every day
aka: The Happy Bookers
Artist
I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"
custom poems on vintage typewriters
One Poet's Writing Practice: Poems by Mary Kendall
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment