
He was broken
and he was beautiful

He was broken
and he was beautiful

the sun kissing the edges of leaves
walks along the river
this book, Hold Still by Sally Mann
the smell of peony and rose
Johnny Cash singing, Daddy Sang Bass
the Laurel Highlands on a cool, fall morning



aveces, mi alma me duele
(sometimes, my soul hurts)

en la niebla, te siento
(in the fog, i feel you)

gitano, me robastes
(gypsy, you stole from me)

Amo, amas, amat, she thought. Amamus, amatis, amant. Their Latin teacher had made them march through the halls chanting conjugations. I love, you love, he, she, or it loves. It loves? That made no sense. We love. You (plural) love. They love. And then, of course, the perfect passive subjunctive – would that I had been loved – the saddest conjugation of them all.
From The Year of the Gadfly by Jennifer Miller, 2012

the morning is my favorite time of day,
when the fog lifts and the hopefulness rises

Then the seated woman with a parasol
May be the only one you can’t betray
If I’m the seated woman with a parasol
I will be safe in my frame…
Lyrics from the album, The Beekeeper and from the song, Parasol by Tori Amos, 2005

soak up life’s little pleasures,
they are fleeting

it was a morning filled with fog
and a blanket of silence