Four miles down the other side of the hill, Daniel heard a soft rushing further into the woods. After another mile, the sound had grown into a hum and then a rumble, at which point he found himself at the edge of a dark-colored, quick-moving stream
Vanilla (and other poems)
the frames of our flesh
bending and fitting themselves
to fill and fulfill
each other’s need
Encounters
He waits for an answer that will never surface, while I wonder why, after all these decades, this is what he remembers of me. I want to be elsewhere, and I am elsewhere, but not sure where, and I know where I don’t want to be.