Everyone is counting on their fingers, holding their breath, waiting for the next creature to come out of the sky to devour them. Corpses kneel on the ground, praying to remember the last thing they ate or saw or heard before boarding the ferry. Clouds bearing promises of snow prowl overhead. Sometimes they are selfish, other times just careless. Who said Life is a dream? Close your eyes, but keep your radar tuned to voices in the ether, or the odor of rosemary and cypress. A man fumbled for hours in the woods, arms outstretched, following the voice of an owl.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.