AUG 16 3:15/lc
It might be a nightingale.
A powerful wind wrapped in a fierce darkness.
You look at your words:
There are only two stories:
Niobe, turned to stone while weeping for the slain children.
Naomi, returning from the red land after seven years of famine.
A powerful darkness wrapped in a fierce wind.
You look up: a shower of gold.
Blowing over Norway: a galen: mad, furious
notice:
Nothing you resolved to do was done
That, really, there is only one story
The drag of dog days: in the laps of stone women
seeds of corn
water night leaves behind
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