Sometimes memory is cracked open, half of it broken, half of it a small bowl to hold rainwater on bright wood, while gulls swirl above you, and the grey sea eases to shore below.
~ by theresakishkan on November 9, 2015.
Posted in Uncategorized
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
This entry was posted on November 9, 2015 at 4:19 pm and is filed under Uncategorized.You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.