Читать книгу Creeland - Dallas Hunt - Страница 15

on our

window- sill

sits a succulent, bending

its stem

to swallow the sunlight

hunched over, desperate, it leans toward the glass, hoping to be filled like a Mason jar brimmed by a pouring spout— before the water rushes over

how wonderful

to be so dependent on another, how

alarming, how terrifying

and yet, what else is there to do, but to have our beings bound up in others, so restless, so full

of thirst that we might spill over