The Man Who Sketched the Wind
You can’t have me there.—El MiguelDraw me the wind if you can—I asked.Here it is—he replied,after dragging the pencilacross the blank sheetwithout leaving... Read more.
On Opening Old Books
At times on the page of a bookthat hasn’t been openedfor years, or decades,I find a note, jotted in pencil,that reminds meof some unfinished business.It could... Read more.
What Little Remains of the Winter
The razor-thin, purple, solitary cloud has drifted away,vanished past the undulated, pitch-black silhouette.The upper sky is a spotless, liquid, cobalt-blue continuum,only... Read more.