press a face of flesh lovingly into the untouched earth and you have made a homunculus
Tag: monostich
autumn at this rate: pitchforks are mandatory on witch hunts
when the sea beds fall silent even the fishermen wait a moment before speaking
doors closed softly often hide the kindest of souls
memories of distant pastures collected in an old tabacco tin
snagged fishing line: curious the autumn spider strums it gently
dear life: such a bitter lover she is this greying and stubborn haze
little things should never be hurried: a tiny ember clings to the last thread of wig
a piece of your broken soul is saved for kindling on the first cold morning of autumn
you know it is autumn when the fires are cold to touch
