5 maja 2021
Thinking Off
The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.
Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.
How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?
The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.
Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.
31 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
31 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
31 marca 2026
wiesiek
31 marca 2026
sam53
31 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
30 marca 2026
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30 marca 2026
absynt
30 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
30 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
29 marca 2026
wiesiek