An apple orchard;
slim pathways on the hill
in the near distance
have turned blue
in dawn light.

I tell blonde Alice
I’m going to head out
to take photos.
Where? She asks.
I say anywhere
they jump out at me,
and she laughs
as if I’m chasing rabbits.

The valley we’re in
is like a bowl
and we’re Rice Krispies characters
wondering whose mouth will devour
us before we can pull on
our red striped socks.

With the sun
in a back pocket,
we shake off a lurid night’s drunk,
a night that clacked and bobbled
like a bag of jellybeans
in the hand of a fat freckled
10 year old.

We hold ourselves
on the brink
of two sides of life,
before the loss.

Selected byLawrence George
Image credit:Morgan Sessions

I work with words, sounds and images to come up

with combinations that hopefully do justice to Socrates’

maxim of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.

I do believe that the voice is a necessary part of the

full poetic experience, along with music and movement,

even if it’s a movement of the hands or eyes.