Day 23
I wonder if the beams from streetlights singe your fine needles, exhaust you, if only true dark can heal you
Tag Archives: Garden
Day 15: A new war begins
Wouldn’t daffodils stay wrapped in their green shells, hands hiding their eyes, and inhale back into earth if it were …
Day 14
I thought I had ripped that vine down dead, but it grows on, out of reach, even in winter, mocking …
Day 13
a word for soft green with deep crevices fluttering in dark, yellow-gold sunlight, unburdened by wet snow
