THE FUTURE OF THIS shadows and smoke slip beyond the screen door, each to a path, a tunnel, past the mix of great and small and the parts of temptation and enemies the heart defends against, knowing that as things change they somehow remain the same
GRAVEDIGGERS soft dirt foot print on a fresh grave, a death bed of brown earth and a few small stones, shovels lean on a wooden shed where inside two men play cards, soiled fingers sweaty shirts the odor of work in their hair, they snort and spit rising slowly cursing the heat and … More GRAVEDIGGERS
it was a burst of journey, a passage somewhere behind the rain, between sun and moon waiting for the rise of gray pearl clouds, decorating, reinventing the will of the soul into a garden of thirsting
Roger Singer 