I know enough to know it’s not spring until I see the snowfence coming down. Today, between the highway and the lake orange-vested men
I know enough to know it’s not spring until I see the snowfence coming down. Today, between the highway and the lake orange-vested men
April hides in a wing where a duck tucks his green head, mourning’s night long still and you haven’t felt yet what sun can
Carabinered to a braided rope and dangling ten feet off the ground, things change, like suddenly there are too many questions about the physics
