Bring down the rains. Crispy grass, even in Seattle. I have a new bed, nearer the floor with a wool topper, very squishy and soft.
Without any provocation, I believe I will gather enough poems for a book and become published, by a small press. I will use a painting I am fond of for the cover or an old photo from my daughter. I will be modest but proud. When they send a car for me, I will refuse because I would rather ride the stallion.
With forgiveness comes freedom.