Wintry Peacock
As if they were three frail boats, opening their feathers like ragged sails. -DH Lawrence Each day I walk through a forest with somebody’s name carved on a tree. In the winter, I had seen peacocks and hens, and like the old story, birds flew before me: feathers wet with snow. Each of us alone unafraid were trespassing through cemetery trees. Tomorrow it would be someone else walking and […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 