White cottons snap the breeze, his sun-colored shirt waves empty arms akimbo and small underthings inhale and shift like prayer-flags. They billow, exhale, salute the sky, the hour, the morning, the July Sunday.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Flying Things
White cottons snap the breeze, his sun-colored shirt waves empty arms akimbo and small underthings inhale and shift like prayer-flags. They billow, exhale, salute the sky, the hour, the morning, the July Sunday.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
It's good to see the Ehouse alive with windows open and laundry moving in the breeze. Hope you're having a good stay.:)
ReplyDelete