The star was a bright one. But when I got there, All I found was an old man warming his hands by a fire. It took my whole life, he said, and all of my breath, to prove I wasn’t a liar. Ever since then, I’ve felt pity for God, and questioned my own desire. . [ 1538 ]
When the earth was flat, I walked to the edge. I took the fatal last step. As easy as that — in over my head, out of my depth. . [ 1537 ]
Hands wrapp’d ’round a warm cup — faceless night, nameless fire. . [ 1533 ]
Terrible poetry, yet what a joy it is to read, for love is blooming with the weeds. . [ 1532 ]
Have I ever had a problem that didn’t begin with words, or end in their absence? Not that I can recall. The irony is, I have been writing all the while. August 25, 2022 . [ 1531 ]
The shedding birch catkins have attracted the bushtits. Brief as it was, theirs was a joyous visit this morning. Music by the pound. There must be at least forty pounds’ worth in the plastic tub — lesson books, sheet music, and various bound collections. I took out a few — a book of scales in my old piano teacher’s hand, complete with fingering; two books for new beginners; and books […]
William Michaelian 