December 6, 2018
the kids cling to us
days after
broken bottles
a shattered clay skull
novels scattered
paintings hang askew
they are still afraid and
our words of comfort
rupture trust
with each aftershock
December 2, 2018
[Originally Written in December 3, 2012 -- and perhaps all the more relevant.]
Peering Down at What Could Be a Cold, Dark City.
From here on this crisp clear night in Bear Valley, far up on the mountain from the twinkling lights of Anchorage, I am trying not to imagine...
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