What the Summer air is doing.
All my hair on the floor.
Tuneless, all broken branches.
Having waited for the foal.
One beautiful thing in Ohio.
We want someone to say our name.
In between waiting and mending.
We live by what we hear at night.
The discipline was not to keep;
Russian children killed at the beginning of school.
Tight buds of eventual bloom.
The gardener and the mockingbird.
Sometimes touch is the most faithful part of truth.
The creation of destruction.
