When the lead Monk handed me flowers
all I could think to do was hand them back
to another Monk in their line.
Along an icy Virginia road they walked
single file through a door that opened
into my heart.
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
I was born in Washington, DC in the '50s, and though I am only one among billions in this world, I remain grateful for the wonderful people and animals I've known, know, and still love.
Being a son, brother, husband, father, uncle, and friend have made my long life worthwhile.
The poems I write are small contributions I offer along the way...
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