Linda Parsons: Two Poems
I’m not a healer, though maybe
I am—my ordinary hands laid on the scathing past
to cool its sear, my palms a bowl cupping
the last drop of day in blind descent.
October 16, 2023 · 13 Comments
Video: The Lost Words Blessing
Enter the wild with care, my love
And speak the things you see
September 27, 2020 · 4 Comments
Al Maginnes: Source
Out of sore feet, out of roadsides sooted with dusk, out of gravel, jeweled crumbs of shattered glass, out of the wide gesture of the hand toward heaven, out … Continue reading
October 18, 2018 · 2 Comments