The moon goes down like a coin. Spent,
even memory is becoming a memory.
Any tree would seem to grieve,
what with the hawk lonelinessing
on her desiccated perch.
Her feathers are the opposite of snow.
T…
The moon goes down like a coin. Spent,
even memory is becoming a memory.
Any tree would seem to grieve,
what with the hawk lonelinessing
on her desiccated perch.
Her feathers are the opposite of snow.
T…
Rachel Cusk photo courtesy the author.
Subscribe for free: Stitcher | Apple Podcasts | Google Play