Recovering What’s Lost I wake up, another day, already mourning the absence of night, a missing immortality that lingers in memory like a restless ghost.
shadow of spring In the first place, dates aren’t solid. One March 20 is not another March 20, though all are the vernal equinox somewhere.
I’m using daily prompts associated with Inktober (artists doing ink drawings) to spur poetry this month. The poems flow from the prompts, though it may not be