Fragrances,
the decalcomania of elegant flowers...

I have seen THE horror
of a place where truth does not exist...

We dream without me and you,
gasping the fragile air...

Me—
the meadow of the night...

To Those Who Still Guard a Soul
Loneliness is a shrine...

In the name of the first warriors,
the keepers of earth’s first truth...

Right or wrong,
high or low...

As we lean into the future,
the past unfurls behind us...

It was a small garden lane of being,
a stem upon...

~~I wrote a sonnet at first, but I changed it.~~
No mask can veil the truth we trace...

The Inquisition burned the scientist
to prove their God...

Let me be indebted
to my depth...