The Edge of Hortense
I’ve brought my own bonnet. When the good Lord comes: ready! But I keep shifting like April snow out of my own photo. The part of me that can’t be seen, that’s the unrolled stone (Hallelujah!), that’s the black screw turned tighter into the bedstead. It’s the sighing falsehood of ice eating all of the pond’s air, a rocker stilled… Read more →