Gray vines coiled leftward in this northern hemisphere, what winds them shapes the dogwhelk's shell. Weeds sprouted from cinder and brick.

“the child would ask him questions about the world that for him was not even a m…”

“Each leaf that brushed his face deepened his sadness and dread. Each leaf he pa…”

“Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.”

“For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to s…”