You seed yourself like grasses in a field but also between the ochre stones of an ancient street. You bring on darkness and sunrise.
I want to possess June though it can’t be done. I breathe it in, let it model my hair. I pull out its bounty
Last week, they were open-throated and singing in violet, harmonic with bee wings’ low drone and soft hum, delicate anthers, filaments, stamens, moving pollen
The Eurasian penduline tit weaves plant fibers and fluffy seeds into nests so soft and strong children in Eastern Europe have worn them as