Cold now. Close to the edge. Almost unbearable. Clouds bunch up and boil down from the north of the white bear. This tree-splitting morning I dream of his fat tracks, the lifesaving suet. I think of summer with its luminous…
This is a poem written to me 10 years ago, by the poet Chuck Sullivan © Zen Matchbox 2008, Rag Street Press. Worth remembering. Chance Meeting Its Match for Charlotte I remembered you before I knew you before I knew…
Originally posted on Charleston Through an Artist's eye:
We have not even to risk the adventure alone/ for the heroes of all time have gone before us /The labyrinth is thoroughly known/ We have only to follow the thread…