not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, September 29, 2016

under the canopy

beyond the trees, protected from the clock of autumn sun, ferns yet persist as yellow.

they shine out at me with a canary's pulse. something in me shines back at them in return, glistening, ambrosial, accruing, and common like honey.

the distance between all things narrows.