After a difficult few hours of rouge, ranging, generalized imprisonment in a grief-struck realm, the floating dread verging on panic that can so readily descend upon the psyche in 2017 found some relief by grace of small talk with elders.  A frequent occurrence.  So I wrote a poem:   Store Late in the morning yesterday,…


A walk in the rain cleansed my face, dried oak leaves on sentinel trees sound a clamoring breeze counterpoint hush rush of engines swarm near quiet rustling keeps away