It was important for me to see a trace, to see your trace, in the mud of the descending tide, and I wished it would stay there, after the rising tide, eternally, honestly, naively.
traces
Archives par mot-clé : prosepoem
Present (2)
The season has been good. Will start again soon. Sighs of satisfaction while waiting for the fish to return, for the tension to come down, for the desire to resume, and the memories to fade in the affable seasons