I would rather lose him than remember lies. Loss is real and heavy / and as hard to carry and balance as a shuttle of slack coal
The Prodigal Son Makes Notes for a Eulogy and Never Mentions the Fatted Calf
Tag: James Owens
At Summer’s Decline
my wife, / / rising from a dive, turning to me, / gathered the rare light and wore it.
Psaltery & Lyre 