.
Winter is a flying french horn ...
from across the grey,
a white force of wings slaps the lake -
trumpeters back from North Bay
posted by name of the rose at 10:16 a.m.
soak the edge
The inside of thought is where everything teems and stirs with a thousand cracks is where the water meets the shore like threads pulled taut that soak the edge
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
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