A ritual unfolds us.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 176
So much depends on the light.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 175
A house settles into its bones, and mine.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 174
Escape can feel like sweetness.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 173
Laughs at the distortion of ineloquence.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 171
The bruise of memory.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 170
The hymns of memory we call flowers.
Reading The Blue Clerk, 169
the gods waiting to be surprised
Reading The Blue Clerk, 168
And sweetness. The memory of it.