Last night, I slept and dreamed
that my heart was a beehive ––
inside golden bees worked busily,
sipping at the astringent nectar
of past bitterness, transforming it
into pale wax and sweet honey.
These words are not meant to be read in their entirety. Skim them the way this plane skims the cloud layer, jostling sometim...
It's not easy being an American abroad. Between being peppered with questions about politics and having your feet stick off the en...
NOTES FOR A FAILED NOVEL Tórshavn, Faroe Islands Start with the location, basaltic hills, green against the grey sweep of the North At...