my words are few under this greying sky, wind tossing the trees among clouds that smell of rain while the goats stand by, watching in a reverent silence punctuated only by the drag of branch, snap of twigs. i had cut back the brambles yesterday – cool under a distant blue sky, picked my way…
love never changed her mind or changed her ways. she has always been in love with you, with the fiery heart of your living – your burning passions that could set a room aflame – the quiet your of being in the emptiness. she knows your vulnerabilities, your need to keep yourself warm. and perhaps…
i offer no illusion last night the hen house was raided. opened the door to a mess of feathers and blood this morning nothing of the spotted hen but her liver licked clean on some star splashed quills. the rooster dead and whole in the middle of it all too big to be carried into…