for Emma They are nocturnal, you know. My four-year-old niece told me so— and she’s got the 411 on the rainbow. I search the
Even your gallop cannot drown out the earliest wars or gunpowder parades tearing past the tympanum. There is no in-one-and-out-the-other, you’ve heard every good
of the palm of my hand a watershed empties into one river that breaks into two head and heart a portage can take years