-
Under the Oak
The air was always thick with something.
-
A Benediction
You hold its memories in your hands Its heartbeat in your eyes
-
Before I Could Write
The child who sits alone is not always lonely.
-
It May Be True
This came to me during meditation. I’m not sure if it’s a poem, a lament, or a love letter to someone gone too soon. I didn’t mean to write it—it just arrived. Sometimes grief finds a shape before we do.
