the grass rhymes with the thrush from last year.
you love four words. time to update.
the bounds of futility’s grounds run down the hillside.
in this country people are too rich for change.
on the day the wind crutches the going.
no one saw him follow me.
and this, as other rooms, a promise like a door.
ooh.
temples in ruins / two sisters, the tomb / the flight to egypt.