It’s still gnat light over the porch steps. The creak near the front of the board you’d stand on and draw in night had
true: death cap rises after rain in the forest, pits trap and vipers coil. So Mondrian decrees no fellow feeling beyond geometry, admonishes “contours
You do not have to drown for this. You do not have to be a Shanghai tycoon dangling your pale feet in a celadon
When I was little, I could not grasp the distinction between my shoes and my feet. I called both pairs “feet.” I once said,