Virginia Woolf and Vladimir Vysotsky, unlikely twin spirits, were born on the same day, 56 years apart

the length of a life between them
and the simmering fury of one
and the quiet grief of the other

Of all the bus rides

A screaming homeless woman; a screaming child; a woman next to the woman with the screaming child muttering (fairly audible) profanities; a man playing unusual music (Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers) aloud for his quiet toddler--a toddler who, occasionally, reaches across the aisle with outstretched hands to scream in unison with his compatriot; a terrible bus driver; an impatient, pushy crowd.

The end.

But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend
And all the rain falls down amen
On the works 
of last year's 
man

for the first time it wasn't a wolf or a bear. it was a lion, and my heart was a tight ball in my throat. but as it came toward me it bowed its head and circled gently around my legs and accepted my outstretched hand in friendship.

we walked together a long time in the dark and darkening forest.

as we approached the cement, the streetlights, the curious onlookers, i panicked. you can't come with me here, i thought, it's not safe. and as it turned back, slowly, reluctantly, my heart was a million fragments of relief and loneliness and terror.