I follow the smoke unaware Its swirling path mirrors the mist of my thoughts … or not —I whisper when I catch my wanders Autumn is almost death There comes winter and the heavy blackness … or not —I hope for snow and solar storms frosted…
Words, sounds, and space
I follow the smoke unaware Its swirling path mirrors the mist of my thoughts … or not —I whisper when I catch my wanders Autumn is almost death There comes winter and the heavy blackness … or not —I hope for snow and solar storms frosted…