104 9 7
|
It is a day of swallows and grasshoppers, of white clouds and suntanned arms. In the yellow field wheat ears burn, lit by fantasies. One of wheat, one of rye. Summer love, holiday love is in the air. Under the thickness of the harvest, their roots search, call each other.…
|
9177
|
then from the page
this body stands
|
8063
|
I'm panicking trying to think of the next line in this poem
|
6266
|
It was still too early to head home.I hadn't found any decent fossils and felt adventurous. What I needed was a local road trip, a random turn down a road I couldn't recall traveling before.What really got stuck in my mind was seeing Marion Davies summer house again! How…
|
5662
|
|
