I think I find myselfin a season of changeof what could possiblybe a personal…
I feel so brittleas if you couldblow me awaywith one smallbreath
Change is a subtle bedfellowOne you didn’t know was thereuntil you wake up every morningand there she is…
It’s a curiousthing —
a wish for tomorrow as the sun lifts over the horizon, and newwinds blow fresh…
Her winter palaceis emptyblues and greys, pepperingthe rooms lush with shadowssteeped…