9 months ago



Persephone’s Perception Moon Mother Hangs there waiting spitting sticky threads across the sky And curled, the spider only seems to sleep Her web’s a universe of stars impaled She eats them one by one

Canticle for the Commonplace Every-day-ness contradicts the passages through grief. Instead of tears there’s grocery shopping, doing dishes, trimming fingernails and all the rest. Outside, the evening understands, comes early, muting sharp distinctions, melding past and present into psalms that sing of time-less-ness. What has been will always be, so wake to the mundane, wrap it like a shawl around the solitude. In the ordinary, in the getting out of bed, in paying bills and in the broken needing to be fixed, love abides between our memories and the stories that we tell.