Saturday, November 14, 2020


Thanksgiving 2020

The old vows really were the best, precisely because of their impossibility.  A public profession of ultimate faith with the seeds of betrayal already stirring within.

Sympathy and tenderness two fragile flowers, buried and trampled in the first snow of that harsh winter.

I dreamed of perennials, held in an outstretched hand.  Outstretched in the end to someone who could not be me.

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