Fairoam
Dobrawa Czocher, Sonata For Solo Cello: Joanna’s Tale
thrashing into the void, a skein of foliage, fluttered like torn sails, battering gust and squall, we, the youthless vagabond, bid our mothers farewell
Summer’s Winnow
On this day in Maine, where the gulls bellow, the summer’s breeze, bend bluets mellow, sift blanch rocky beach, and salt-laden sea
In the End
Though in the end, we may pass, through fire and ash, and all the be left, are little sparks, ascending like stars, from dying embers we flee