Verses in a dry land

Water is laughter, children running through an empty house, a phantom guitar that spills notes in cottonwood shade. A thread of music weaves green verses on bleached cloth, a chorus of crows. Willows sigh, feet resting in green. You can hear frogs, insect wings. A thousand songs hover just out of reach like an iridescent dragonfly. We lie on soft banks singing the same old words, a green song in a land of brass and hard blue silence.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...