“You become a speck of dust in a breeze, with little you can do to affect your circumstances. When” — Bobby Adair Copy Share Image
“A mist rises from a nearby mound. It could be me, that mist, or simply the caretaker’s mower-dust. If the breeze blows just right, I’ll ghost your solid, entwine your hair. Promise me you won’t shampoo, but carry me along,… — Chila Woychik Copy Share Image
