The sea burning, the heads of blued Thistles nodding now, You are drift Ing across the dry grassy Field of perception. Above me, Humming with the Softness of hands in mud, Words wing and land, Clutching the branch of hope That this is finally a sign. The ache between the dunes, tilted Towards
TagMyth
Lament of Demeter
Among the silks, I felt for a bare arm. Among the racks of silk and chiffon, I felt for an arm that would be propped tenderly beside the body it belonged to, a body trying to make itself stand in the way of a whisper, or as translucent: a body that was hiding. My fingers