he built his own

castle, over a

three billy goats

gruff bridge to

a moat towered



his grandaddy’s

Gettysburg bayonet

hanging from a rafter, the

only gun in the house

where he measures

wind and water to

millimeters of history

for his art.


a joy lives there, fanciful

detail, historic caring



why he is he, and we

merely dabble.


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