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now thou but stoop’st to me —Ben Jonson The falcon like a teardrop heaven cries from higher than the city’s tallest tower designed to fall precisely through clear skies...

On clear cold nights when far stars speckle skies& woodsmoke goes straight up & disappearsa dozen constellations to my eyesare dull blurs when I think back through the yearsto...

My Grandmother writes of her garden wallflowers & cornflowers from early April showers like beautiful wounds healing across te bed from blue to purple to dark pink to light...