The Comrade’s sweepings of life are spread like cumulus clouds guiding ribbons of rivers. That moment’s rest at the house Of the hurting kind–mist. “Enough!” the woman warbled, So now fledgling, Let’s rest in motion, padding barefoot, claw foot down nature’s asphalt unknown what wafty thoughts found waving from the shallows may conjure forthContinue reading “It Matters”
Short stories, poetry, and excerpts of God's healing
Purple Pennies 