Tuesday, April 20, 2010

She was classically beautiful.
She had a nose like an oboe.
Carving through the hills that hang
Brown and pregnant with the frost
A silver spoon with dirt stained hands
Rests easy on the porcelain curves
Not enough mouthfulls to go.

Fatherhood

 I am carrying the torch you Handed me Not handed. Placed Carefully This is sacred space. Was the carrying so heavy for you as well? Were yo...