I had a dream once that was red, and gold,
and infinite shades of blue...

Fairies are not pretty;
that's the commonest of errors...

There are some things I know,
and the rest are steeped with me...

I feel like I've known you
ever since I sprouted out of the garden...

I'm the sweet orb of August,
firm and plump and glowing orange and red...

Before the waves and waves of tribes
crested and splashed against the emerald shores of...

Nighttime in San Miguel is teeming and rich
and swirling with twilight. The sun fades...

Curling ashes as soft
as feathers, aloft are...

Lighthanded,
she whisks a spoon around the kettle...

We were not born in a storm.
There were no heavy-browed...

I'm thinking about... writing un-self-consciously...
feel...

I want to make worlds
in miniature...