January 12, 2026
Guts twist ’neath spindle
fingers, nervy and clutching
for tornado’s end.
Sun behind and clouds
ahead as day wanes: the sky
ripened for rainbows.
Pretty assassins
nod unknowingly under
blankets of poppies.
Worry not, my loves,
of rising evil: ice melts
when mourning dawn breaks.
love notes
a ritual to start the week