A dead or dying treeI’m sure just spoke to meAbout a secret skill called “letting go.”And further on my morning walkA leaf fell down to have a talkTo tell me what I certainly should know. In whispers soft as newborn’s...

When I was young, you came with your black mouth agape and your blacker heart pounding with anticipation.I feared for my sanity or my life.So I tried to drown you in drink, in powder,in the temporary warmth of another...