Thursday, June 15, 2017


I am in your garden, 
a deep meadow, rich with color, 
strolling. 
Fingertips, as if in water, trace your plantings 
that seem an act of nature so perfectly have they grown, 
gem after gem tied together by humble yet verdant grasses,
and here I stoop to closer see, 
‘The dream was too beautiful to doubt.’ 

These bindings are a vase.




Thoughts while reading 'The Magician's Elephant'





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