City of bell towers, of clappers struck together to praise the mud out of which they were delivered. The damp leaves of willows tremble toward their hallmark shimmering. Saints stand on rooftops in waning light, their stone garments almost softening. Attend the gestures that survive the centuries: hand open in welcome, hand gently warding off. Lifting a face out of layers of shadow as if some things weigh nothing at all.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.