Out of the tiny corners of my mind An idea for a memory sees light. And I can not forgive much past the time That fiction fades and fantasy takes flight. What substance stores our memories? Have you ever tried to think? What surface do we write them on With what ethereal ink? I’d love…

Sky, why doest thou cry?   Weep well into the night like a child who lost a pet? Why doest thou insist on getting me wet   As the days get longer by and by?          But it’s good for my herbs, I must say.          Good for my garden when skies are gray.          Good for my mood in…