Ties that bind, Knots that fail or A scrimshaw carved in soap instead of bone Humankind as the sailor Embarking without hope of a safe way home Keep
In the dire obscurity of another dark February, there lowers a fog of uncertainty On a thin gasp of wind known only to me. My shivering sigh spreads a
, soft-focused by death, by history. I am the limner. I make portraits in minature. These 2 girls were separated by 200 years, but still they are sisters
There once were two utopian societies Pavonia, land of the peacocks And Swaanendael, valley of the swans Both have trade Miserably There, behind every
They say not far away, In fact upon that hill They say that there's a little girl there still She wasn't raised like the other kids Miss Lynn, the Snow
of blue field violets, for her glory and her power, which she found in her final hour, Great and small and all in-between. Sweet sister temperance,
This letter you get it, You burn it, Forget it It's not what I meant to say You might think me a scapegrace Really a fugitive in decay I exist here on
When I was nine years old Way back in Ohio The hired man was digging up a well On my father's land He found a fossil there It was a massive bone And
