A poem
quick bit
I never posted just floating in drafts,
lost all the others to the fire,
2 big rubbermaids full of ’em.

There were chronicles of loss, exploration, listening, cooking, trauma and healing, and writing notebooks kept since I was 12. Was readying myself to read, rework, archive, share and burn. Check.

The “stone deep” metaphor was sure on my mind the night of the fire.

He snugs up then
drops stone deep
to our riverbed

swims up otter waking
my care twelve hours later