RuzenSanger

Dear Wartime Widow; You don't know me. Well, you do; I was your neighbour, we lived beside each other for two years and I watched your huskies while you were on duty in Afghanistan. I spoke with your husband daily and gave treats through the fence and cried a little when I woke up one morning and saw your eldest dog had passed away, the others huddled close to it as if to keep him warm. Your husband, he had the same name as my daughter and we chuckled whenever this not-so-strange occurrence came up in conversation and his hair was red like fire. I used to watch him, a Goliath of a man, digging the garden in your backyard, rebuilding the fen

Cloud in a Bottle 2 And if anything, in essence, could change the way you do, don’t think (for a moment) I would not take it in between my two hands, heart and head lines touching, to chart somewhere in the region of the archer's bow, lips against something like you in two palms, reading a sea-change in hot airs between chapped valleys and intimation. You went out without hearing the best part of the story, which was: with my last wish I switched your skin for the skin of a shark, my skin for mole, so that you could be a leaver of marks on a map, pliable, still lamenting that I had not been born the Maker of things to make you just a