Nov14 The last butterfly to forage in my garden left its breath behind. Jun23 Moonlight in my hand weighs less than a fly’s left wing or a spider’s breath. Jun12 To tell their stories, my grandmothers use my breath— early morning rain. Breath Nov17 Geese in the flyway, stir the garden with your breath! Let the new corn come! Languid Jul13 Languid afternoon— not the slightest breath of wind stirs the Salton Sea. Death Jan11 first death of the year— the feral cat’s lukewarm breath leaks from her nostrils Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy Follow Following Mark M. Redfearn Join 476 other followers Sign me up Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now. Mark M. Redfearn Customize Follow Following Sign up Log in Report this content View site in Reader Manage subscriptions Collapse this bar Loading Comments... Write a Comment... Email (Required) Name (Required) Website
Jun23 Moonlight in my hand weighs less than a fly’s left wing or a spider’s breath. Jun12 To tell their stories, my grandmothers use my breath— early morning rain. Breath Nov17 Geese in the flyway, stir the garden with your breath! Let the new corn come! Languid Jul13 Languid afternoon— not the slightest breath of wind stirs the Salton Sea. Death Jan11 first death of the year— the feral cat’s lukewarm breath leaks from her nostrils Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy Follow Following Mark M. Redfearn Join 476 other followers Sign me up Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now. Mark M. Redfearn Customize Follow Following Sign up Log in Report this content View site in Reader Manage subscriptions Collapse this bar Loading Comments... Write a Comment... Email (Required) Name (Required) Website
Jun12 To tell their stories, my grandmothers use my breath— early morning rain. Breath Nov17 Geese in the flyway, stir the garden with your breath! Let the new corn come! Languid Jul13 Languid afternoon— not the slightest breath of wind stirs the Salton Sea. Death Jan11 first death of the year— the feral cat’s lukewarm breath leaks from her nostrils Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy Follow Following Mark M. Redfearn Join 476 other followers Sign me up Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now. Mark M. Redfearn Customize Follow Following Sign up Log in Report this content View site in Reader Manage subscriptions Collapse this bar Loading Comments... Write a Comment... Email (Required) Name (Required) Website
Breath Nov17 Geese in the flyway, stir the garden with your breath! Let the new corn come! Languid Jul13 Languid afternoon— not the slightest breath of wind stirs the Salton Sea. Death Jan11 first death of the year— the feral cat’s lukewarm breath leaks from her nostrils Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy Follow Following Mark M. Redfearn Join 476 other followers Sign me up Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now. Mark M. Redfearn Customize Follow Following Sign up Log in Report this content View site in Reader Manage subscriptions Collapse this bar Loading Comments... Write a Comment... Email (Required) Name (Required) Website
Languid Jul13 Languid afternoon— not the slightest breath of wind stirs the Salton Sea. Death Jan11 first death of the year— the feral cat’s lukewarm breath leaks from her nostrils Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy Follow Following Mark M. Redfearn Join 476 other followers Sign me up Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now. Mark M. Redfearn Customize Follow Following Sign up Log in Report this content View site in Reader Manage subscriptions Collapse this bar Loading Comments... Write a Comment... Email (Required) Name (Required) Website
Death Jan11 first death of the year— the feral cat’s lukewarm breath leaks from her nostrils Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts
Almost Dec30 almost New Year’s Eve— in the homeless encampment an old man’s last breath Post navigation ← Older posts