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There are things I can’t seem to hold, things always slipping from me, like messages for you, lists of errands, pens and chalk, all the broken dishes and spilled cups…

The autistic boy is blowing bubbles with his mother, shimmering orbs that glitter and dance on the face of the lawn. He prances after them, staring with the deep mirror…

Coffee sticks like syrup in my throat. I cannot let you go, my child, my love, eyes liquid as marbles. Tears hide in each cheek, about to rain. Your hand…

I’m delving down into the belly of earth, into deep loam of Mother Terra communing with earth-worms and tubers. My feet carve clay thighs move rock aside make way for…