There is a little boy of ten screaming and wailing at the doors of death

It came to me sunday as I was climbing the stairs

And she sits there and takes the bumps and the shakes as they come, part of…

And to the brave girl who writes a wrinkle on a  moist page: ‘where is eternity?’…

Can you move on, beyond doubt? Askant of a shimmurring sky: is this me, is this…

She was born to know the water. Although she always knew, that she was below the…