• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 05
Image by


“Take some lark's tongues . . .
one wren, one robin, thrush,
and so continuing, take a swan . . . “

As in a nursery rhyme gone wrong,
the birds are off song, pathetic
feet curled, clutching nothing.

This is silence after song,
rest after exertion,
beauty nestled in its long continuum.

This is winter's toll,
soil in the making
as are we all.