Reflections on good and evil

It is from
conveyed small details that the truth of the memory of a lived and
handed down episode transpires.

I aspire...I promise details,
How's that? My facts, how's that?

Miracles showing the spontaneity of a
memory, neither built nor adapted, which nevertheless is engraved in
the memory of those who were present to the event.

Etched glass,
Arched window through my soul.
Who sees me, alas,
Who sees back, all this gold,
To have and to hold?



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Blog, or dog? Who knows. But if you see my lost pup, please ping me!
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