ate a country breakfast
On the approach, the netting in
sliding flat between the crop rows
their hands will touch
A fortune to be squandered on table linen and a bowl of faux fruit
by gaslight he reads “there is filigree, gold in… down the valley at…”
An insect plague upon our harvest
She forgets him
blockading water’s natural progression from stagnation to sea
arms casting a porcelain bracket in space
around words such as: summer dead weight toe line and dark coat
Richmond has been called into dinner
even the willow trees have been schooled
Bodies smelted indivisible
meteor heat in a whitening night
No comments:
Post a Comment