Pretending we can hear the song
Our song was not of crickets nor of strings it was more in depth of water, timpanies of summer thunderstorms, herons, crows. We neither burned nor froze, yet with fevered […]
Daily Archives: August 16, 2016
Pickled summer
I pickled summer saving shimmered trance breeze of melt and green. I added moss rose musk our solstice dance, and heartbeat skips of moonstone lull. The jar (now twisted shut) […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 