1440
4.344
11.xii.23
plenty whence as
nesting
cast of mind back to
thousands
nor Christmas bright
the beetle
a slap of light beside
as when – say when –
the year is full
and woe is all betide
beyonding thus
who wouldn’t?
as otherwise
a pen to play
words let up
an outside to let in
dizzy crooked do
uncurrency
none guess thus far
centuries mine
and far before
all
so slept as where
a sky for my reflection
always looking up
in such passages
as hour or less
who will fix the wilderness
I tether to a star
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.