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by Kathy Epling |
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| In this place joy is our birthright. We don't need to kneel all night on the closed stones, paying our way with tears. Come to the clear light. arms open, empty handed, into this story |
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by Kathy Epling |
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| Darkening of the light. I haven't seen you for weeks. Meadows unfold brocade acres of embroidery, brodaiea & meadow lark. Even here, back to the sun If there is no bread, taste the stones. Missing your life, find it. Throw it away. |
