if i can, with a glance, find focus in this disarray, it may be in the raising of the glass that we sip or your eyes as they lift to mine, gazing on your lips smiling and dismayed.
"Bow low to the cello, French horn & bellows." Her songs barrel in the barroom beams. Her Samba unravels. She learned in the mirror the poems of Brazilian queens. The elegant prose, she hones all through winter, is wreathed in magic & music & dreams. collage & acrylic … Continue reading Barroom beams.
out there in the bay tonight, captured in a globe of light, hand over hand over hand, overheard lonely lovers coaxing words from the shortwave static.