12-21-2024, 12:39 PM
Then woke to birds singing, blackbird, lark.
It liked the rough feel of bark on its bricks,
the way leaves fell on its lintel,
how roots grasped like hands in the dark.
Became its home. Sorrow was a thing of the past.
But the hunting party of lawyers were closing in.
The dogs were out in front, with wet black noses.
They were hunting out those things that were not meant to last.
It liked the rough feel of bark on its bricks,
the way leaves fell on its lintel,
how roots grasped like hands in the dark.
Became its home. Sorrow was a thing of the past.
But the hunting party of lawyers were closing in.
The dogs were out in front, with wet black noses.
They were hunting out those things that were not meant to last.