The sand beneath my feet whirls away, sweeping me off in a sway. On the floor, I lay, as my grief is in bits, gradually fraying. I stifle a chill as the breezes go hay, the sun grows cold and gray, on a thick cloudy day in May with no hope and no sun rays.
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Heaven Simple
the wind did not howl but the door frame is loose vibrated and swayed like the unhinged rusting tin roof and her anxious heart
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9 AM Discovery
Open the album to see your roots. Hover your petite fingers across the beige page with the woman’s face you inherited.
