As a five year old, sitting in the backseat of the car, I looked up at the moon as a celestial body moving alongside me, everywhere I went. Even at the highest speeds, it felt like it was on the journey with me. It has looked over me for decades. I have been in love…
A poem about the word that keeps returning.
I have gotten to a point where I sit down and note thoughts in bullet points. Random thoughts, no structure, no punctuation, no caring about flow. I dealt with the writing block by deciding these were notes and not real writing. That freed the flow. Now the project is asking me to write-write. And I’m…
