Light struggles to arise from her slumber. The deer feed on the past. In a duck blind, a man cold with isolation. Space watches, whispers. At my window, the powdery moonlight stays for a while on my desk while I write sonnets to stars.
Light struggles to arise from her slumber. The deer feed on the past. In a duck blind, a man cold with isolation. Space watches, whispers. At my window, the powdery moonlight stays for a while on my desk while I write sonnets to stars.
Miniature Moon 