The birds sing As I sit in stagnant heat Hands on still oars, And the lake mirrors the sky So ... [+]
Originally published in "The Futurist's Mistress" by Mayapple Press, 2006
The gray field of the rain had risen. She slept on the worn patchwork quilt of the sky.When she woke up, she dreamt that her house was flying,that a witch rode by— past the clouds, on a bicycle. Where was the air going?The wind poured out from her eyes.