
The fire must be tended, and alas, I am tired. Here are the light feather down pillows on which I long to relieve my aching brain. The piles around me grow in the day, and in the night, and still I write, and I am not right. If someone was curious, somewhere for something mysterious, and I let them, set them open, and flashing on fire, that spark, that little spark in the dark that must be held, can weld , can rebuild a broken heart. [read more...]