Her castle is a canyon; her feather bed is a rocky crevice, sweet and hidden as the truth she keeps in feet that pad upon the earth, ears that know the smallest sounds, life that accumulates beneath the nails of her lethal, inscrutable claws.
Tag Archives: home
Morning Observations
The song of the morning
is a lot of ecstatic tweets,
high pitched messages,
and low slung motor grindings
The Poetry Patio 