my whole life, someone at the door holding out our coats

world full of others
urging me to hurry too
even you, puppy

outside—wind, rain, dark
that’s the whole point, your eyes say
universe of scents

I brew tea, bemused
dreams, words, drifting leaves
Let’s wait for—a while

You always say that

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