Photography, Poetry


Personal satisfaction comes and goes like flashes of sunlight

between cottonwood leaves that are stirred on the wind.

The world is coming apart, but isn’t it always?

It depends on when and where one popped into being.

For the majority of human beings belief is solid; the system is solid.

Bloody war and then a bit of peace; just enough time to

bury the dead, to have another child, to help a parent pass away:

Mercy may be nothing more than the randomness of the universe

at work; mercy brought me to Wyoming.




Poetry / Mercy