The outer edges blur…singing in my ears,
an ancient sound circles through my head, against bone.
Spirits follow us as we walk home in early evening light.
They disturb our sleep, so we hold hands.
I’m making a world–weaving it through yours.
The outer edges blur…singing in my ears,
an ancient sound circles through my head, against bone.
Spirits follow us as we walk home in early evening light.
They disturb our sleep, so we hold hands.
I’m making a world–weaving it through yours.