will I drown? the wind twists, and we kiss the flowers; seize the backbone of the root, where our blood is ours. the tree trunk can’t see death; unparalleled, my father disintegrates. […]
at mind’s end, the winter sets the dawn, coffee and creamer, while the silent encroachment blossoms in the ripe mist. © 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.