poetry, blues, and a llama

My photo. I know this llama. Well, we've met.

That sound in a seashell.

Holding a seashell up to my ear -- do you know
that sound? I used to say it was the ocean.
Not anymore. Now I know what it is, it is the sound
of my son's life, the son I lost. And I don't say
anything at all about it to anyone. I just sit and listen.

james lee jobe

Wherever you go you wil…