There is a story. It eludes my grasp. When I work to shape it’s contours, it soars beyond me.
the rival for territory
There is a story. It teases and hints at being told. When I reach for its structure, it crouches back into shadows.
There is a story. It’s palpably close, yet impossibly distant. But when I wait for its essence, it descends like soft rain on thirsty ground.
birdsong and cicadas vie
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