The birch tree triples,
throwing olive patches on the water.
Perhaps this shows my mistrust of the world;
or my love of its many guises.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Hoard
- Recursive
- Memory: A Tonic
- Cultivar
- Orality: Little Treatise
- Dearest one, I am Prince Ashily Quatama
- Refract
- Every Death
- There are words and there are words:
- Little Voyage
- Unleaved
- Atlantis Rising
- Anamnesis
- In the Ablative
- The wren in the lilac cycles through its songs at breakneck speed—
- If the future is a bird headed for a summit too far away to tell:
- Urgency
- Tending Fire