I know you’re angry. So am I. How could we not be? Children ripped from their parents, Concentration camps in Texas. “I can’t breathe” “I remember their laughter” A child-man throwing ugly decrees from his high chair. But from a high shelf in Europe come watercolor images a century on. French families fleeing destruction. Children … Continue reading Centenary

Cauldron’s Rim

Cauldron’s Rim My cauldron is rimmed, not with pearls, but with Blood Red Roses. Spirals graven there over the year we stirred the Awen together. Scored by the stirring stick, colored by the brew, One for each one of us together in the task. Black the Cauldron’s rim. Once it stretched from Wales to California. … Continue reading Cauldron’s Rim