Three times a day, Manoli climbs up the gas pipe in the garden and leaps up to the first-floor balcony, where he mioaos at the window insistently until I open the door for him. Thus am I interrupted from my writing... Is he my cat or am I his human?
I have no rhymes for you, no metaphors And sonnets are old-fashioned. I could compare you to something beautiful, Compare you to the Moon undressing of her pride To bathe in a turquoise lagoon Garlanded with coral reefs And fanned by palms and birds of paradise. But you are nothing like that You are Swish-whoosh-twinkle-twinkle-flutter-flutter … Continue reading Quiet Flutter
Why do you make me sad even when you make me happy? What is it in your laughter that wounds me even as it makes me whole? And why does your silence carry the weight of burdens yet to come? Your looks sometimes are arrows. Your words sometimes are spears. When anger comes upon you … Continue reading Gradients