Читать книгу Creeland - Dallas Hunt - Страница 6

my kôhkom could pick up a hatchet with her toes fell whole oaks keep a fire for weeks trees speak to one another with vocabularies that could burst the grammars that house us roots and tentacles spreading reaching unfolding clasped branches like rough and clammy hands searching for irriguous dirt crumbling like empires saplings could topple empires if we would just get out of the way