simply because of that word, I have always thought of my insides as a jail.
Tag: snow
turkeys in snow
each footprint resembles
a bird in flight
bitter cold day
crushing dried horsebalm
for the scent of lemons
The first people to make flutes from bones:
what must they have believed about music to search for it there?
In the ideal interrogation room
the only shadows are kept like handkerchiefs in the pocket.
Blue blood
belongs only to those with no need for veins, like a wanderlust that starts where the highway ends.
Winter is a protection racket
not unlike the skin disease once known as the king’s evil that could only be cured by a king’s touch.
These mountains
are full of hollows and riddled with mines: a geography of loss.
Ask a vintner or a fromager:
few things are more festive than decay.
The forests of my earliest childhood
are evergreen.
But fists are lonely
vulnerable things that can never match the strength of linked hands.
Let’s be honest:
we were adrift long before we were at sea.
