Measure heat by
how grateful we
become in its absence
early morning grass
cool and damp
beneath us
green decorated
with clover,
flecked with the
iridescent webs
of optimistic spiders.
Measure heat by
how grateful we
become in its absence
early morning grass
cool and damp
beneath us
green decorated
with clover,
flecked with the
iridescent webs
of optimistic spiders.
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
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment