I have been busy packing up the excess stuff at our house in order to make it more desireable to prospective buyers. I found this small poem tucked inside a sewing magazine down in the studio. I wrote it in 2002 and it has no title:
My heart flies on its journey
through the dark and distant night
past the towering timbers
the ground’s steady breath
to that dimly reddening dawning
of some distant horizon
where you are.