I have no complaints. The sockeye fish hurries up river, but human hearts rest in nocturnal bliss. What scavenges the weak, the herb, fruit,
I have no complaints. The sockeye fish hurries up river, but human hearts rest in nocturnal bliss. What scavenges the weak, the herb, fruit,
what is it about rain arriving —but not yet as ginkgoes —golden-leafed— in autumn startle dark sorrowing skies as you dressed in red on
—after Stephen Budiansky Birds, fish, whales teach our featherless finless fingers arms and feet: tapering to a thin, sweptback tip, a crescent assists its