Most mornings alight on my bones this way—The shadows of the leaves of a tree risingAnd falling like a ship on a sea, upon my windowpaneThat glowed with the golden light of Saturday.But today, the window was a silent nothing—When I woke, the shadows had gone awayTo stretch big and heavy, to trespass rooms And…

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register
%d bloggers like this: