Autumn again and we’re both in our own corners of elsewhere. I wonder if you sit by the window, too. I wonder, of all
Autumn again and we’re both in our own corners of elsewhere. I wonder if you sit by the window, too. I wonder, of all
Shadow my one and only searching for dusk on the roads you’re like Bly’s lovers who go home through the dark autumn nights. Here
Under haystacks, an apple orchard nearby, under the silence of clouds lingering overhead, before age and knowing limited us in the cellars of despair