The dreams of the night,
alive in the cold spaces
between us, fill the unknown
holes that have grown,
and will continue to.
Writer in San Francisco, CA

Slid into heaven
Thanks to raven wings and bones
It is a dark room
Scattering of beads, thunder
I wake in the morn
poem written in Tanka form
The dreams of the night,
alive in the cold spaces
between us, fill the unknown
holes that have grown,
and will continue to.