Tender Continuum   This town is a perfect snow globe  on a mantelpiece, an impenetrable dome.  Waves of puddles on the stone sidewalk  swallow us down & we become a part of the rotation,  the silent timepiece,  the busted backdrop.  We will never escape it  even when we box up our  memories & drive to the shore & cradle our kin   or watch them outrun our misfortunes.   Still, this is just a thought against actions, just a minute  against an hour.  When the glass shatters & we inhale the valley fog for the last time,  we will draw breath as  the pale petal in the  summer storm wind.    Silent Orenda  Today, there is an urgency not to move. To instead, bury the worn soles of my feet in this comfortable, breathable moment,  one that I am certain will not try to control me – in the same way that the passing hours like to threaten me and hold me to the slow, choking wind,  who, with the right motivation,…

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