poetry

Three new poems grow in the nights of winter. And here they are:

Some people actually imagine heaven as a paradise garden in the clouds with tired angels in it, a big golden garden fence in front and Saint Peter as an usher. I don’t. I have an idea of heaven too, but it’s different.

You might think that the magic would be used up in 2020, with all that has happened. But it hasn’t! You just have to find it …