we are taught in whispers
rain on the glass
beach grass hissing as the storm slips out to sea
for a while despite all that has happened
we imagine we believe our own stories again
.
Rural in Nature, Transcendental in Temperament
Blog Archive
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2012
(322)
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April
(33)
- Death in April
- Spray Not, Sickle Not
- Drink the Last of Your Wine
- Untitled
- Some Called the Late Snow Destructive
- Our Own Stories
- Beach Primitive
- Sane Wind
- Atlantic
- Beach Sand
- North by Northeast
- Not Edited by Cicero
- Fishing Report
- Self
- Beachcomber
- Dispatch from the Banks: Romance
- End of an Eight-Hour Drive
- Neurons
- Untitled Reflection
- Cindy Unmasked
- Fiddlehead Triptych
- Corridors
- Attempting One Good Line
- Succumbing to Time and Gravity
- Country Game in the City
- First Canopy
- May Our Senses of Humor Outlive Us
- Beyond the Towers
- Opener
- Moon Less than Full
- What to Do
- Eventide
- Groundhogs
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April
(33)
