Rests its comfort

There is a way. Over there, behind the clouds, where the sun lingers . . .

LIGHT IS EVERYWHERE

A lumbering fear resonates under the collar bone, something like a burr.

I know I’m being followed.

I know she’s there, next to my shoulder.

Stinging thoughts converge and take aim.

The humming sails through the room on warmed air.

I have two angels and a fairy sitting on my desk, watching me.

Yep, that’s what she said.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. – Annie Dillard

Sun-rays interspersing.

Soul sorrow brandishes her, dispossesses and stuns her.

Who’s to blame? The preverbal switch-a-roo, so to say. I like to think that it’s others, but it’s usually me.