Plight of the Poet

It has been too long since I’ve written something without a purpose. I so often used to write just to write, for the joy of it...

That night, Mark and I drive across the Bay Bridge into the city. The hue that radiates across the late-evening sky makes it seem like...

Everywhere the gray-green came up to Meet the dying winter sky And the trees amongst them Were heavy with longing for The Spring that...