when i hold that molten light between my palms i wonder if that golden balm was netted in ancestral fingers to soothe away the fear of never ending winter with the primal warmth of the memory of dawn.
February 9, 2021
Except where otherwise noted, the content on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons CC0 Universal Public Domain Dedication License.
Air is free, sound is free, words are free. To believe otherwise is to be enslaved.