Writing

I want every night to see the moon.

A dog's brush against me will gladly do me well.

I want a feast. — a table with napkins and two forks, every chair filled, and you next to me. You tell the stories and I chime in.

I want to be the father my father was to me. Stories aloud. The made up voices let my imagination run. I never doubted him.

Endless Grace. Mercy.