It announces itself as a rustle in the bushes, as a tug of the hem, as a flash of light in the eye, as
It announces itself as a rustle in the bushes, as a tug of the hem, as a flash of light in the eye, as
Five days of rain and now this clean morning pulse of pure light— luminous on the sill the peacock plume’s iridescent blue-green. Whenever I
Go use a pen at the courthouse. Hope it still registers ink and sign on the dotted line, if you’re willing, and he aint’