See
earth fill cloth
Hear
ditches in still trickle
Hamstringing Fate.
Waiting three Sundays
Breaking nested dusk ― Cracks
Opening the drum ― Cracks
Frozen solid wells ― Cracks
Making torched night paths there black-clad birds dances
while the moon bites caress inside a Windkissed harvest
Lifting,
pressing land and mountains home to Godan blood