Shipwrecked

His approach was stealth, quiet, brooding, and dark. He came over my soul and spirit and in one bite severed my hands. Not my heart, no – my hands. I could no longer grasp the driftwood or the bread of hope.

Dear Little Girl…

Little girl, by degrees your littleness will leave. By degrees so will you.

In An Age of Speaking…

In the age of speaking, let us not forget that doing so must remain a choice – not a compulsory act.