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 

[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...