When humid air rests on arms, bare for the first afternoon in half a year,
life begins to happen, and bored eyes begin to re-explore,
the sacred spectacle of time.
(April in the marsh)
When humid air rests on arms, bare for the first afternoon in half a year,
life begins to happen, and bored eyes begin to re-explore,
the sacred spectacle of time.
(April in the marsh)