Owl
October 24, 1983
Tom Simmons
Darkness of our sight, quick shade on the pale stars, move the black limb above us, graze our hair with the low laurel, the scent of a broken leaf: hone your cries sharp on our sleep.
Tom Simmons
Darkness of our sight, quick shade on the pale stars, move the black limb above us, graze our hair with the low laurel, the scent of a broken leaf: hone your cries sharp on our sleep.