Poems: Messages in bottles
Elevens: Forgotten things recollected in elevens—11, 22, 33...
Sacred Trespasses: Contributions to the literary pages at Sacred Trespasses

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We’re always
on the move,
we’re’nt we, little
one,

’n’we plucked forth
the finestry of
firm hearts

to eye, 
as ’twere, to-night, 
life broke new sorrow;

and ail’nt we,
halft of elegie
to all past

Crouched at water's smooth edge at dawn

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