The familiar tracks frequented by toiling farmers
Are lost to the spreading lines of blackness
That stretches its colonising claws from cities,
Crawling maliciously towards the emerald...
Afternoon coffee_ watching the Winter raindrops mate on our glass window.
white sheets and furs between the warmth of our skin. feets smuggling to Yiruma’s...
THIS transient seasonthe plants get to pause from all the growingthe ground is not soft and not fine enough to be blown off the roadthe farmers store...
