Drinking from the cup

Finger wrapped steam curls toward wood beams, this holy morning fragrance mingled with words and some tears and knit brows and shoulder shaking gold Lives, lots, portions in earthen containers and hers seems more like folds of linen this morning and she asks where is...

The Frame

We zoom in. We squint. We tilt heads and thrust necks forward. We walk to the next case, the next frame and hold hands behind our backs so as to notice without touching the strokes of oil, the blended hues creating glen and chin and river and belly. We look intent at...