Time gone by, The moon was a tangle Of flowers With stems reaching Down to earth. I tell you... We would climb up, Rest In sweet-scented petals, And dream.
I live in Phoenix under a white hot sun and wander time and space. I see poems whole. Images come to me in rhythm and color with line break. Previously I lived on Long Island near the ocean, where the mist and fog and thick grey air create a separate reality.
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