One morning cutting peppers, you spoke with gestures. Dancer’s hands, bend, twist, pale Irish skin. You see as mystics see. Mystics who...

#art

#art

While being human can feel like sleepwalking, nothing needs grounding here: late summer sun, heat, still lake. Muffled voices waft across...

Click. She flipped the switch, turning off the overhead light. A soft glow spread into the room from the light over the kitchen stove....

#art