We weave with spirals, twists and twirls days after the fools pink moon.
The eggs for the bread still had feathers, time raise the dead.
Patience and practice, 10 loaves in, 2 to go, with eggs on the back burner, eyed and watched.
Be still and listen
One day I will tell you a story
Why did he kiss her so often on her lips?
The sun hit her eyes, a bright spring afternoon hiding behind a sky scattered with a flow of clouds. The bees buzzed and the dogwoods bloom.
Absorb.
I peer the letter set in front of thee
7 set
Thats what it is. Rocks pieced up down and around
December, 1979, they were part of the American agency and were being evacuated. There was gonna be a going away party….
Be still and listen
One day I will tell you a story
She opened the old bread book her mother had taken with her in 1974, all the way to the concrete block towering home, Building one, Apartment one.
She took the eggs from the carton, one, two, slippery fingers one falls, and cracks on the kitchen floor, the clear liquid seeps towards her feet, then the orange follows. She grabs another egg, grateful to have what she needs on hand.
Everything heated to the proper temperatures.
The rain fell, hoped upon with no need of expectation, food for thorns and roses. Only a tree of leaves and lanterns to umbrella the way before and after the planting of seeds.
Be still and listen
One day I will tell you a story
December 1979, Seeb, Oman; our world is on edge, warriors, families, and sandwich makers kids plan and wait and wait and plan, a home brew.
One of the best tools a commander has is a clairvoyant wife at hand.
Errors are made, move forward, white gloves on hand and know where dust lands.
Be still and listen
One day I will tell you a story
Cracker jacks
