There is a resignation in the cone of a white pine,dropped by its mother onto a clump of dried mown grass,which I arrange among my collection of spent things, white sap coating my fingers in resinous gratitude. I remember when… Read the full article
Help me lift my head upthat I might see the full arc of the sunone last time before I fall I want to watch the black rat snakecurl her tail around the base of the forsythiaand pull herself free of… Read the full article
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