I collect parts of myself, ones that roll like coins in a silent room. These are messages hidden in some corner, perhaps under the sofa. I put them in a teacup. No cream or sugar there. And I find the flavor of me again.
Nothing doing
I found ten ways of doing nothing. It was the eleventh that did me in.
A new season
When you think your destination has reached, become a driver.
My story
I am still reading the book that I am writing.
Ode to a flower
A prayer
Love lasts
He was the ink she wrote her love stories with. One day, the bottle rolled over and crashed. Walking to sea, she washed her ink soaked palms. Spreading love everywhere.