At Last Night’s Supper
We all sat on one side
of the table
facing the ocean
and the waves
watching the tide come in.
Someone brought bread.
Someone brought wine.
She drank too much
and didn’t like
the way he kissed her good night.
Journalism so good... it's scary.
Decades of her words.
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A Story For The Æons
Five true stories, every five weeks.
Errors and Intentions
Essays on Creative Nonfiction
defining the words that define us
Journeys in Space, Time and the Imagination
A Writer's On-Going Search for Just the Right Words
Is this gentleman bothering you?