7.17.13

98 degrees and running at a butterfly’s pace

7.12.2013

home from a run
a tiny spider
dead
descends
into the sink
within my spit

4.3.13

Even I, here, grounded,
Could feed on this emergence
But I run
Mouth closed
Contemplating Swallows

4-14-12

a fly mistook my ear for a flower

4-5-12

trees reflect
frogs breathe
pond water ripples