sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl

[xantus]

down in the lowlands the crops are all coming;
we have everything
life is thundering blissful towards death
in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness

Comments

[cosmogonic]

Way back in October I picked up a little clod of dirt wrapped in newspaper with lobelia seedlings sprouting out the top. It was $1.99 and I carried it all the way home under the bridge, sticking out of the top of my tote bag. The label said "color: variety" but now I have three pots' worth of little stars blooming and every single one is deep, velvety indigo. I wish I could give one to you.