160/365
Window glass blues.
I have seen all I know.
The golden hour dusts
painted limbs. All the faint hairs
on my arms stand when a Madrona tree
shakes its skin. And finds the floor, the one
I am standing on.
[Image: Simón Prades]
Window glass blues.
I have seen all I know.
The golden hour dusts
painted limbs. All the faint hairs
on my arms stand when a Madrona tree
shakes its skin. And finds the floor, the one
I am standing on.
[Image: Simón Prades]