The stories can be harsh in the pervading gray of concrete and rumbling thrum of traffic. The young dad with a jitterbug son, waving his

At the heart of the world an altar pulsing light, crucibles of fire where the stories of Earth rise with fragrant incense into streams of

There is a well older than the earth; when I fail this depth is my nourishment. I know the animal in strength, the tooth and

Over the unbroken fetch the southerly breeze

raises the channel in wind driven swells<!--