From "Talking to my Daughter Late at Night" We have a tray, a pot of tea, a scone.
There is No path back to it..
Your childhood ended years ago.
A spring planet bending ice Into an absolute of light.
This is the hour When one thing pours itself into another: The gable of our house stored in shadow.
From "Talking to my Daughter Late at Night" We have a tray, a pot of tea, a scone