odd lessons for children ages four & two

Are YOU really my teacher



i am always one of your teachers,

i am your mother.



We have nothing to hold, nothing to make the music!



our instruments cannot be held, without a bottle to catch the echos.
we'll escape, if only through a crack above the blades of laughter...



from the grass shoots souls and shoes; in a sudden void we format
the traces of red under the nightingales song.
giving too, my everything.



think safe, be safe;
grace is the choas and torture of what's left behind.
think box, act out;
the moment rides on a lark, and the impulse bites.



the sun softens yeilding to the moon,
bearing the weight of the world, resting uopn a ring and a whim
with the promise, the light will come again.