It was the first day of eighth grade;
the last year of middle school...

{inspired by Woolfe's short story The Woman In The...
No one should have mirrors...

Am I a leaf, floating on the wind
Am I a falling star, never to land...

Is poetry enough
To describe the thoughts...

Why is it that we look so far when all we need is...
Why is it that we turn on the TV when we could go...

An untitled name,
An untitled place...

Speak, memory
And evoke the images...

The eloquence of the wind,
Dancing across the latent sky...

The world hangs in suspension
Whispering a tart question to the black universe...

I stepped off the plane
and was greeted, enveloped...

The simply ecstasy of a thought flutters
Behind my dancing eyelids...

As I was riding the bus home this afternoon,
Some incandescent fluttering settled upon my mind...