The Woman’s up in the treehouse, The Stranger can’t go back to work until he makes sure The Girl is alright, and The Girl just wants to bury her brain. She’s great at playing, she knows, but she’d be better if her brain didn’t make her say things.
from The Call-out Fortunate autumn. September rushesOver our heads. Migrating flocksOf warblers, jays, petrels, thrushes,Come, then leave. The equinox,When the sun aligns with the equator,Passes. The dawns start coming later,The sunsets sooner. The sudden rainsDon’t last for long. The warmth remains.Goldenrod blooms, and even the rosesAre hanging on, this late in […]