Moss gathers the stonewall of a cottage in its arms;

The strange heat in the lung of a firefly

sets the treeline aflame with actinic light,

There is the lethargy of a lotus-eaters vision that will zoom on

the mask the night covers the scene with.

A bottle rolls and clatters on the wooden floor as the bowl of porridge, untouched, untasted

grows colder…



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