The truth is hard to tell
The truth is hard to understand
The truth can set you free
Lastly, Jesus Christ is the way, the truth and the life

He stirred her moons—
left them pulsing like distant stars.

Just because I wear the
name 'woman', doesn't mean
I'll bare myself to you—
like the moon offering
herself to the night.
I'd rather remain—an
unopened bottle of wine.

I am not a pour—
I'm a preservation.

more down the middle

now, not touching the sides

so much.



limbs hang looser, hardly tied.



it is a soothing thing apart from string,

to walk the higher road.



this is not a metaphor.

it leads to llanfachreth.

humility

comes from odd places,
and so oft unexpected,
a comment leads me to
fine lace, of which I see know
nought and naught, and to Normandy and Northern England,
rafting into history

and what the difference is tween
naught and nought (not much)

and my ignorance is stupendous,
really, I know so little about so much, and it staggers me into
wailful willful

and honest

humility