Come back slowly
to the house
of your self
dust the tables, open windows
to catch the sweet breeze
of possibilities
all the slid away
during that long winter
Come back slowly
to the house
of your self
dust the tables, open windows
to catch the sweet breeze
of possibilities
all the slid away
during that long winter
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