What we fear may not come to pass. Though the wind this year has been violent, and the sky rainless, the tree we planted
You are made in a darkness that warms and rustles, and settles, folded under the dusk-sound of cicadas singing as softly as a woman
This is an end-of-the-world kind of love. You know, a grab-onto-something-because- the whole-place-is-coming-down sort of situation. When all of the volcanoes erupt at the
