Author Information
a view
Bruises of smoke cower in the valleys.
Morning bleeds up
To view the longitudes of a thousand serrated hills,
Remote peppercorns of thatch and whitewash
Scraped over grassy mounds
And footpaths littering the inbetweens.
Come the rainy season these hills
Will hemorrhage mud.
The alkyd ashes of belonging (and the walls)
will melt away.
