Читать книгу Door in the Mountain - Jean Valentine - Страница 81

Little house

Little house

clay house

thousands of funeral smell

ground swell

we knew the boat of right action

but the road rubbed out

—water gone!

—the dead girl gone!

(was she pregnant?)

dishes blew by

I searched my hollows rubble

Burnt grass teach me

before I forget you

into a time

when I sit and roar

over the flowers

and don't know them